Second Hand News
by Abagail Snow
Summary: "We're like a summer storm, highly charged and quickly moving through the hot, unstable air, before breaking apart and weakening into nothing." Katniss tries to figure out her relationship with Peeta, while Panem continues to fall apart around her. Modern Day, Part 2 of the "Rumours" series.
1. Chapter 1

_I know I said I probably wouldn't write this, or that it wouldn't be for a while, but then I couldn't get the story out of my mind, so thank you to those who encouraged me to continue this series for justifying me writing this chapter. This is the sequel to Never Going Back Again, if you haven't read it, it may be a bit confusing. I think this chapter summarizes all the major plot points, but the gist is that Katniss is a reformed juvenile convict in a modern day Panem. Panem suffers from class warfare between the "have" (the Caps) and the "have not" (the Seam). Katniss has been a Seam all her life, but after she took the fall for an accident involving Prim, she's found herself tangled with the Caps, including Peeta Mellark, whom she used to gain favor from her parole board set on sending her back to prison. Peeta knows now that their relationship was a lie, but agreed to stand by her when she was accused of another crime._

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**Rumours: Part 2: Second Hand News**

I take a sip from my red Solo cup. It tastes vaguely of cherries, but mostly vodka – the expensive kind. From a Cap party, I wouldn't expect anything less. The night is warm. The air thick with humidity, in a way that leaches to your skin and offers no relief from the heat. There's a charge to the air, like thunder could crash at any moment and unleash a chaotic curtain of water. Clouds have gathered in the sky, obscuring the faint twinkle of stars. It would be impossible to see them from here anyway, not with the giant floodlights that bath the obscenely large backyard with an unnatural glow.

There's a swimming pool – twice the size of my house in the Seam – filled with classmates teetering on the edge of inebriation, playing a game that seems to be a hybrid between sword fighting and whack a mole with those limp Styrofoam pool noodles. On the far edge of the wooden deck, Mark Cato is draining the last bits of foam from a keg. Our eyes lock for the briefest moment and I can't look away quickly enough. Immediately I want to vomit, even though I barely have enough alcohol in my system to justify it.

We're technically allies now, Cato and me. Outwitting the legal system one overpaid lawyer at a time. After the accident that resulted in Peeta getting shot in the leg, we were all gathered in a small room to get our story straight. The laundry list of crimes committed were auctioned off like some sort of baseball card trade. It was all for show anyway. The Mellarks never planned on pressing charges, not once I was eliminated from their list of scapegoats.

When one of the wealthiest kids in town ends up with a bullet hole in their leg, and there are only two suspects, one from the Capitol District and one from the Seam, there are really no questions to ask besides, "Which trailer?" Especially when the Seam involved was already decorated with a criminal record. It was going to be simple to railroad me even though Cato was the one to pull the trigger. I was already proven to be hostile when I jammed a box cutter into Cato's leg, what was a firearm to add to the list of parole violating activities?

Haymitch and Peeta wouldn't allow it though. Haymitch had been mentoring Seam kids out of juvenile corrections facilities for years and watched every last one of them get swallowed back into the system. I was going to be the first one to make it out and he wasn't going to let some fool with a gun that he thought was unloaded, get in the way of my freedom. Cato only meant to scare me, not shoot me. It didn't excuse the fact that he almost let Peeta bleed to death because his harebrained scheme got out of hand.

Peeta stood by me even though he had every reason to throw me to the wolves. I had taken advantage of his feelings for me and used him to charm my parole board. Peeta thought that whatever had been developing between us was real, and maybe it could have been, but that possibility was tarnished now because of me. A Cap defending a Seam is unheard of, and by including me in the Mellark protective fold, he was putting his good reputation on the line. Any other Cap putting their neck out to defend Seam trash over one of their own would have been banished from the community, but Peeta wasn't like the others. He was good, and people respected him for more than his money.

In the end ,Cato claimed he had the gun on him for protection. A guy as wealthy as him, in a town with such a controversial economic diversity, couldn't afford to jeopardize his safety by roaming the streets unarmed. I admitted to seeing the gun, and misinterpreting the situation from our earlier altercation, stabbed him with my box cutter. Peeta then stepped in and attacked Cato, thinking I was being assaulted, and in the process, the gun went off. The Mellarks and Catos donated a large amount of money to gun safety awareness and all was forgiven in the town of Panem. One thing had changed though. I was one of them now.

I crash into a Cap, who is wearing two polos with both collars popped and a crooked baseball cap on top of his head. Marvel. He adjusts the aviators that are completely unnecessary at night and holds up his overly bronzed hands in defense.

"Watch it," he says, but his lips quickly turn up into a smirk. "Oh hey Everdeen," he says. His suggestive tone making my skin crawl. "I'm not packing any heat, but you can frisk me if you want to."

I roll my eyes and push passed him, taking my stance in my usual corner on the outskirts of the crowd. It's close enough to the commotion to make a valid appearance but far enough away that nobody tries to engage in conversation. Just the way I like it. The number of odd looks flashed in my direction have diminished in the last few weeks meaning that I've become a regular fixture in their world. Mission accomplished, I guess.

Madge slips up beside me holding a matching plastic cup, we nod at one another in acknowledgment then sip on our drinks in silence. Madge doesn't want to be here anymore than I do. Her mother forces her to come to these parties, I think. Hosts the parties herself sometimes under the guise of wanting kids to drink responsibly under the safety of a Cap roof instead of running off to the Slag Heap with the Seam trash for debauchery.

Madge's cup is full of water though. I don't know how she survives these parties sober.

"Where's Peeta?" She asks.

That's a good question. My eyes scan the crowd in search of his familiar mop of blond curls. The party is on its last leg. That stage where everyone can only manage intermittent slurring and are barely even half conscious anymore. It's easy to spot Peeta because he's one of the few that's still engaged and speaking animatedly. That boy could carry on a conversation with a wall if he had to.

"Talking to Delly," I say and gesture my cup in their direction.

"Oh," Madge says. We nod at one another and continue to drink in silence. We may only seem like casual acquaintances, but right now Madge is one of the best friends I have.

"Katniss, hey!" I'm suddenly wrapped in the arms of Delly Cartwright and nearly spill my drink down her back in startle. One would think that Delly was drunk, with her round flushed cheeks and overly enthusiastic smile, but being this friendly was just a part of her nature. I respond weakly to her embrace and offer her a small smile in return. Peeta is a few paces behind – his leg not fully healed, leaving him with a bit of a limp. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans and eyes me carefully. Waiting for Delly to release me, he places a hand against the small of my back and kisses me on the cheek.

"Hey you," he says with an affection that doesn't reach his eyes.

I swallow thickly and force a corner of my lips up to a half grin. "There you are," I say in reply, unable to hide the sadness in my voice.

The awkwardness goes unnoticed by Delly, who continues to bubble with excitement. "I can't believe high school's over. It's surreal, isn't it? Are you excited for graduation?"

I smile tightly. They're letting me walk at the ceremony but I won't get the diploma unless I complete summer school. I'd rather just take the GED exam and get it over with, but it's important to Prim that I get my diploma so I'm putting forward my best effort. It's only a piece of paper, it's not like I'm going to use it for anything.

"Yes," I say lamely.

"Where are you going in the fall?" Delly asks. "Will you be in New York with Peeta?"

I look to Peeta for the briefest moment, our eyes barely locking before I turn back to Delly. "I'll probably still be here."

"That's too bad," Delly says gavely. "At least it's not too far. And with all the training Peeta will be getting, he'll be able to cook you the most fantastic meals!"

Peeta's attending the International Culinary Center in the fall. It's not something we talk about much, the fact that he's leaving while I'll be staying behind. We don't talk about our future or our relationship at all, it makes the sham easier.

"I can't wait," I say with forced enthusiasm. Peeta presses a kiss to my forehead and tightens his arm around my waist. He's much better at this game than I am. He knows exactly how to behave to make this seem real.

One would wonder why we still carry on with this charade now that all our legal issues have been cleared. I question that sometimes too.

After the news of Peeta's accident was leaked, the Caps were easily satiated by the story that was spoon fed to them by the press. The Seam folk however, had seen too many rich kids walk for their crimes to accept such a flimsy story. There was outrage over how the crime scene was handled and all the evidence that had mysteriously disappeared. Snow had actually balked to the pressure and fired Crane and half the Sheriff's department to quell the uprising. It was no use, the damage had already been done.

I was essentially blackballed from the Seam community for standing by Peeta and the Capitol agenda, but the little sympathy I maintained was used as a weapon. What started out as a game to trick my parole board into keeping me out of prison, turned into the fragile thread that was holding the town of Panem together.

"If you want to keep them from writing you off while saving your own hide, you need to justify siding with the enemy. Nobody can deny a tragic love story," Haymitch reminded me.

On my last day of employment at Arena grocery store, Town Supervisor Corionalus Snow himself came to my register to purchase a single long stemmed rose. Arena didn't have a proper floral department, so the stock was wilted with brown rimmed petals, quality not suited for the most powerful politician in town. He had step foot in Arena with purpose however, and the quality of the roses seemed to be the least of his worries.

"There's a special election coming up," he said, barely acknowledging me as he clipped the stem to a sharp tip with a small dagger he had slipped from his jacket pocket. He tucked the delicate white flower into his coat's lapel and twisted it until it was positioned perfectly.

The plans to incorporate Panem were no longer a secret and the campaign was in full swing. According to polls, the vote was at a dead tie. Naturally, the upper class was excited about the prospect of expensive pretty streets and fancy festivals to flaunt their wealth. Those of us living on the edge of poverty weren't as enthusiastic about being cut out of the picture. We may have disliked the distinct class lines, but being tied to the Capitol gave us access to good schools and added value to our dilapidated land. If Panem became a municipality, those from the Seam that made the boundaries wouldn't be able to afford the new taxes and those who fell outside of the line would be living on worthless land that would most likely suffer from crime and chaos.

The white of Snow's eyes were stained yellow and his cheeks gaunt, making him resemble a reptile more so than a human. There was something unsettling about this man, who had somehow been able to charm the town into following him. I suppose making one a millionaire would inspire loyalty in anyone. He may not have been the CEO of Cicrcenex – a medical technology company that was the livelihood of Panem – anymore, but he'd always be remembered as its founder.

"What happened here a few weeks ago was unfortunate," he said, and the smile he offered was more sinister than comforting. "Sometimes when we're pushed to extremes, we act in rash ways. Wouldn't you agree?" I felt my mouth go dry but managed to nod. He was making it clear that he knew what he could hold over me. My poaching, my drug trafficking, my illegal trades. I was putty in his hands, just as I had been when I was trapped working at Arena.

"I have a problem, Miss Everdeen," he said and plucked an especially rotten petal from his rose. "Panem is at a very delicate crossroad, you must see it. Some feel that there may be preferential treatment to certain sectors of the community. This incident that took place here, it's only made matters worse. Even a fool could see what's happening. Evidence turns up missing, motives don't quite add up, and of the players involved there's a very obvious case of – " He trailed off and grinned, his voice taking on a melodic lilt. "One of these things is not like the other." His thin silver brow arched in amusement and all I could do was press my lips together tightly to hide my fear of this man.

I wondered if he knew about the tapes. Knew that although Cato pulling the trigger was immortalized on film, proving his guilt, there was equally incriminating footage of me feeding drugs to Peeta. An offense that would send me back to the slammer in a second, should it ever come uncovered.

"It's odd when someone of your social standings finds themselves entangled with more upstanding citizens, especially with your record and all. One could wonder that perhaps, you may have been pressured or coerced into cooperating. Or the same could be said about them." His tone was knowing as if the subtext of his words weren't obvious enough on their own. He knew about the tapes. He had to. "Although I shouldn't be surprised I suppose, I hear that you and this Mister Mellark are quite fond of one another."

"Yes," I said, but my voice betrayed me and broke its silence with a desperate shout.

"It's a charming reminder – the two of you – that these barriers in Panem are simply a myth," he said. "Two lovers separated by circumstance, embracing the values of a new Panem, binding the community and building a home."

"Funny," I said, with a defiance I hadn't known I possessed. "I thought this home you speak of didn't have enough room for all of Panem." The city limits on record in the county offices showed a clear boundary that separated the northern districts from the less desirable southern ones. Snow's plan was to basically build a wall between the rich and the poor.

"You're a lot like your grandfather," he said, which was odd because not only had I never met him, but the man had disowned my mother, Prim and me when my mother dared to fall in love with someone not worthy of the Odair fortune.

I lifted my chin and gathered my composure. "How so?" I asked.

"You inspire loyalty," he said. "It's quite dangerous if you don't know what direction to lead your followers." He counted a few bills and dropped them on the counter. "Tragic, your grandfather's passing. It was far too soon." There was something mysterious about his tone, like there was a threat hidden in his condolences. "This vote is very important to me, as I'm sure your freedom and your lovely sister is to you. I'd hate for one of us to end up disappointed." And then with one last chilling grin, he was gone.

My freedom and quite possibly Prim's safety was dependent on Snow getting his way. Peeta and I would have to continue our romance through at least the special election. Nobody would buy me aligning with the Capitol District on my own accord. But what was I really doing? Leading those, whom I considered to be my family, blindly into a trap all for self preservation.

I'm distracted from my thoughts by the feeling of Peeta's lips, warm against my forehead. "You'll miss me a little, right sweetheart?" He says.

"Oh please," I manage to say. "You'll forget all about me once the first New York socialite crosses your path."

I can feel his lashes flutter against my cheek as he closes his eyes and let's out a heavy breath. "I wish it were that simple," he says.

He says these things sometimes to hurt me, I think. He's too kind to turn his back on me when he knows that I need him. That's the only reason he agreed to play along with this act. That and to stick it to his mother, who about had a heart attack the first time he took my hand into his. I refuse to believe any affection he holds for me is still genuine. It makes this arrangement easier that way. But then he strokes the end of my braid in a way that makes my heart react in an unexpected way.

I'm about to do something stupid, like kiss him selfishly when we hear a scream. It's loud enough that everyone should have heard, but Peeta, Madge, Delly, and I are the only ones who seem to react.

"What was that?" Delly gasps, but Peeta and I don't wait around to reply, we're both darting towards the house where the scream originated. The halls are still crowded with an incoherent mob of peers and we push our way through, throwing open every door along our path in search of the source of the cries.

We're halfway down the corridor when Peeta encounters a door that's locked. He squares his shoulders and hurls himself against it until the frame gives way and he barrels into the room. It's almost pitch black and I feel along the wall for the switch, while the occupants politely tell us to, "Fuck off."

Through the dim light that shines through the heavy curtains, I can make out two male figures hovering over a girl who appears to be shivering. I find the light just as Peeta is ripping one of the men from the bed grunting, "No _you_ fuck off."

The guy stumbles into me and I catch him, coming face to face with the same pair of sunglasses I'd ran into before.

"Get out of here!" Peeta roars at them with an amount of fury I didn't know he possessed.

Marvel scoffs at the request, but still obliges and leans over to collect his discarded shirts from the floor. His accomplice, his cousin Gloss, begins to dress as well and they stroll leisurely towards the door. "Relax man," Marvel says easily. "We were just having a little fun."

When they finally leave, I move quickly to the bed and help cover up the girl. She's completely naked and seems almost lucid, like she's on something. Even if I didn't know her face, her olive skin and black hair immediately gives her away as Seam. It's not uncommon for Seam girls to show up at Cap parties, offering their bodies for drugs or money. I'm heartbroken when I recognize her as Leevy, a girl the same age as me. Her family lived only a few doors down from mine.

She thrashes against the blankets and beats her small hands against me. "Don't let them leave," she pleads. "Wait," she calls out towards the door.

"Leevy, please," I say and try to hug my arms around her tightly, but she refuses to stop fighting me.

"I know what I'm doing," she shouts into my face, her eyes glazed over from her high. "You're ruining everything!"

Eventually, she allows me to help her dress and I guide her to Peeta's Mercedes. She's silent in the backseat. Her face hard as stone and eyes unmoving. We're just pulling off the road that leads to the Seam when she speaks. "You think you're so much better than us now, don't you Katniss?"

I turn to look at her but have no words.

"You're just as much a whore," she says, her voice strangled by threatening tears. "Everyone knows it. You think just because you bagged yourself a nice rich one that no one sees right through you?" She loosens her seat belt and pulls herself forward between mine and Peeta's seat so that she can speak to him. "Better get your kicks while you can, she'll bleed you dry and leave you behind, just like she did with Hawthorne."

That was a blatant lie. My friendship with Gale may have been strained due to the increasing tensions between the Caps and Seam, but I never took advantage of our relationship. I look to Peeta, hoping that he hasn't been effected by Leevy's venom. Before I can read his expression, Leevy is struggling with her seat belt.

"Just drop me off here," she demands even though her house isn't for another half a mile. "Nobody's buying you and your charity. Don't nobody want to see your face around there."

It's obvious that Peeta doesn't want to leave this girl stumbling into the night, but knowing it isn't his place to decide, he looks to me for approval. I stare hard at Leevy's stubborn face, Seam people and their pride always getting the best of me. I turn back in my seat so that I'm staring out the windshield and fold my arms across my chest before I nod. Reluctantly, he pulls the car off the side of the road and Leevy hurries out, running off into the darkness.

"Are you okay?" He asks after a deafening silence fills the cabin.

"It's true, isn't it?" I say, my voice even and hollow.

"You can't punish yourself, Katniss," he says. "You're protecting yourself and your family just like anyone else would." I lower my chin to my chest and try to convince myself that he's right, even though I know he isn't. Look at what he puts himself through to protect me, he'd do a lot better without me. "Can I take you home now?"

I chew on the inside of my cheek but don't move to respond. Peeta puts the car in gear anyway and turns back onto the road and we speed away from the Seam, leaving the dirt road behind us for the clean freshly paved asphalt.

The Odair Estate is located on Victory Lane, across the street from Haymitch Abernathy's manor and directly adjacent to the Mellark's Estate. We've been living there for six weeks now, ever since our trailer in the Seam was torched. It's still unclear who lit the flames. Both sides of town had reason to hate me. All of our possessions were lost in the fire, save for my father's hunting jacket and plant book.

Now that I was cozying up with a Cap, my mother's family, the Odairs had reached out an olive branch and offered us a place to stay. All it took was the prospect of more money, for the family that had denied us for years to warm up to us Mutts. Charming family values we have.

Peeta moves up the long driveway and brings the car to a stop just outside the main entrance. "Are you sure you're all right?" He asks and kills the engine even though he's only dropping me off. He reaches his hand across the console and takes my hand into his. Every time he holds me, even in this simplest form, I feel strangely at ease.

I stare down at our woven fingers. Even though it's summer now and he's been spending most of his days outside, his skin is still pale against my own. His broad thumb strokes the back of my hand, igniting a pleasant warmth through my core.

"Sometimes I forget," I say, my words leaving me before I've had the chance to stop them.

His grip on my hand tightens and his breath seems to hitch in his throat. "Forget what?" He asks carefully.

I wish I could blame it on the alcohol, but my mind is achingly sober and I'm hyper aware of the placement of our linked hands in my lap and how the tips of his fingers barely graze the hem of my shorts. It's this energy that makes my body hunger for the contact its been denied since the last time we came together in Arena's stockroom. When our bodies joined in a haze of tangled limbs and crashing lips.

"That we're only just pretending," I say.

This is all the encouragement he needs before he's leaning across the console that separates our seats and pressing his lips against mine. He's not at all hesitant, he knows if he leaves that door open, I'll second guess these feelings and put an end to it all. His free hand cups my cheek in his warm palm and lifts my chin to lean deeper into his kiss.

The warmth that consumes me becomes unbearable and I crave for his touch more than any hunger I've ever known. I struggle with my seat belt and the leather squeaks as my weight shifts against it, while he pushes his seat back as far as it will go. Refusing to allow our lips to break contact, I scramble across the console and into his lap, my legs straddling his hips while I'm pressed awkwardly against the steering wheel. He grips my thighs with firm hands until I feel him hard against me, eliciting a grunt that is swallowed before the origin is determined. At the same time his lips trail down my throat, devouring the sensitive flesh with alternating licks and suction. I hiss when I fell his teeth bite down at the base of my collar bone just as he lifts his hips to thrust against me.

I have to steady my hands around the back of his seat, my palms slick against the leather and I pull myself forward, breaking the delicious contact between our hips to find his lips again with mine. Our kisses are sloppy and uncoordinated, mouths desperately crashing together between shallow breaths. We're like a summer storm, highly charged and quickly moving through the hot unstable air, before breaking apart and weakening into nothing. There was no telling when this moment of all consuming lust would strike again and we greedily savor every blissful second. Come morning, clearer heads will prevail and we'll remember that I'm too selfish and that we both want different things and all the other reasons why this will never work.

Until then I revel in the faint salty taste of his skin and the way the heel of his palm strokes the buzzing between my legs into a chaotic submission while his other hand explores every curve of my body. His fingers are just finding the courage to find the button of my shorts when the light by the front door comes to life bathing us with an invading glow. I untangle my hands from where they had become lost in his blond curls and smile at him shyly. I'm sure my cheeks are as red as a tomato, they certainly feel warm enough.

"Looks like it's curfew," he says with a weak laugh, his breathing still labored.

"Looks that way," I agree. Peeta opens that driver's side door and I awkwardly dismount him, having to crawl out of the car backwards to unwrap our limbs and find my footing on the driveway.

He offers me a sad smile as I cross around the front of his car and place my hand on the brass handle of the Odair Estate's extravagantly large front door. We stare at one another across the dim driveway for what seems like eternity, neither one of us wanting to let go of this moment until the thick summer air gives way to a cool rain.


	2. Chapter 2

_A bit shorter than usual, but I'm kind of in love with this update. Big thanks to hemsworthys/misshoneywell for campaigning far and wide to get the readership up on this. The response has been lovely and heartwarming. I'm really glad that people are getting excited about this fic because I've been slaving over notes for a few months now developing it. I also want to thank on lena-jade who is going to take on beta-ing this because it's about to turn into a plotting nightmare._

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I jiggle the handle on the front door and recognize that it isn't locked. It's no surprise, there's so much security on the estate that there's really no reason to worry about an intruder. I learned this the hard way on the first night of our stay, when I snuck out into the dead of night in search of the comforting arms of the woods.

A pack of pit bulls had picked up my scent almost instantly and chased me clear up a tree. No more than a minute could have passed before the blinding blades of a dozen flashlights were trained directly at me and a fleet of security guards were circling the trunk of the oak like hawks. Apparently they handed out generous bonuses for snatching up trespassers, imagine their disappointed to learn they had bagged Leir's sweet young grand daughter.

The dogs couldn't help their mistake, really, they'd been trained from birth to smell out my kind. It only required a few easy trades of entrails before I'd earned their loyalty and they allowed me wonder the yards freely. They would have made great hunting dogs if they weren't so brutal with their prey.

When I push open the door I'm immediately met by my cousin, Finnick and his sea green eyes. "Is this where I express outrage and dismay over my dear cousin being violated on my very own premises?" He says, and folds his arms over his chest in an authoritative manner.

I open my mouth to speak, but I'm too mortified to form words. "You were watching?" I finally say.

"I'm not sure I approve of this Peeta boy," he continues, and moves to the window where he delicately draws back the lace curtains with his pointer finger to peer back up the drive. "His intentions seem to compromise your virtue."

Finnick is one to talk about virtue, he's been tied to every socialite on the Eastern Seaboard – generally scantily clad on some yacht, docked in the Mediterranean.

My grandfather, Leir Odair, had three daughters. Aunt Goneril, the eldest, married some meek, traveling salesman named Alby. Initially, she adopted his surname, but when Circenex's stock went on the rise, establishing the good Odair name, she returned to her maiden name and even passed it along to her newborn son, Finnick, the Heir to Odair.

My Aunt Regan didn't have any children, and since my mother was excommunicated from the family, Prim and I weren't considered, leaving Finnick the sole bearer of the legacy.

The Prince of Panem, as he was often called, kept a high profile from childhood through adulthood. He was the greatest swimmer the town had ever seen, breaking every record in the state and even qualifying for the Olympic team when he was only fifteen years old. He won the bronze in his race, but accepted it proudly, joking that he preferred it to gold, since it matched the color of his hair.

Even at fifteen, Finnick gained much attention for far more than his swimming ability. He was tall, with golden skin, a perfectly sculpted body, and piercing eyes. Women of all ages lusted for him, but because of his age, his exposure was restricted to modest teen magazine spreads.

It wasn't until his second Olympic appearance that Finnick Odair's popularity could truly be appreciated. In this competition, he was forced to settle with three gold medals instead of his signature bronze. Those accolades were rarely recalled however, when compared to the media sensation that revolved around his beauty. At nineteen, those who had drooled over him when he was untouchable could openly display their affection, and Finnick, flirt that he is, was more than willing to oblige. He hasn't been photographed with the same woman twice ever since.

Finnick and his virtue on the other hand, have made quite the showing in front of the cameras. I still recall the magazine cover of Finnick's "virtue" hidden only by his Olympic medals.

"If I only knew the true weight of my maidenhood on your conscious, all these years I've been too busy with silly things like starving in poverty," I say. It's a cold thing to say, but I still haven't quite warmed to my new family. Since the Odairs welcomed us into their home, Finnick has acted as if we've been close our whole lives.

It's easy for him to forget, I suppose. He's enjoyed this luxury every day and has never been forced to know want, how could he even begin to relate?

"Katniss," he says, his charming facade shattering into something genuine. He moves to block my path as I head towards the staircase, but thinks better and steps aside. The grand entrance has two staircases that share a landing on the second floor, so trying to stop me this way isn't overly effective. Besides, Finnick doesn't want to pick a fight. I know he feels guilty for how his family had treated mine, and neither one of us know how to deal with that tension, so we just pretend it isn't there.

My bedroom is in a private wing that I share with my mother and Prim. There's a sitting room and office too that we rarely use, and a fully staffed kitchen that's on call every hour of the day. I'm not at all tired by the time I reach my room at the end of the hall, and I realize that sleep will most likely evade me. I pick up the phone to dial the kitchen and order something to eat, in hopes that it will help settle my stomach.

While I wait, I decide to take a shower to help wash away the evening's scum. The shorts and shirt I had been wearing earlier in the day – that I had discarded in a crumpled pile on the floor, have already already been cleaned and folded in a neat pile on my dresser. The house staff is managed by this eccentric woman, Effie Trinket. She thinks that following us on our heels with a mop and broom to clean up our trail is somehow efficient, even if the staff ends up cleaning the same length of floor a hundred times in one day.

The closet in my bedroom is twice the size of the room I used to share with Prim in our old home. There are racks of designer clothing on delicate wooden hangers and an entire wall lined with every shape and color shoe imaginable. All of my old clothing burned in the fire, which was probably for the best since most of my tee shirts were thread worn and the rips in my jean weren't an expensive fashion statement. Instead of giving us a limitless credit card to replace our wardrobe, Effie hired a personal shopper, Cinna.

He picked some amazing pieces, but I can't help but feel out of place wearing them. He seems to recognize this, because occasionally I find loose fitting jeans and simple tee shirts mixed between the racks of sundresses and silk blouses. I pick out a pair of cotton shorts and a tee shirt that feels exceptionally soft when I run my fingers over it.

My room also has it's own bathroom, another novelty that seemed unnecessary. The shower and the tub are separate and there's even a door that divides the toilet from the rest of the room as if it were a high traffic area for multiple occupants. The shower is very modern with multiple heads that pop out from different parts of the wall. It took longer than I'd care to admit to figure out how to work the contraption, water shooting from every spout but the one I'd intended, and music playing while lights flashed from beneath the tiles.

Now I have all the settings worked out, and with a few purposed keystrokes on the control panel, I'm standing beneath a warm stream of water, lathering myself with a soap that feels like silk against my skin. I scrub away the memory of the Cap party, like it's dirt beneath my fingernails that can easily be washed away. I draw the sponge to my neck, and can feel the slick pressure of Peeta's lips against my throat, it makes me pause. Perhaps there are some memories from this night that I'm willing to keep.

I think about the heated kisses we shared in the front seat of his car. The building desire that tightens in my chest and causes every muscle in my body to clench. Just the thought of it, as I sweep the sponge across my breast, causes the increasingly familiar buzz to hum between my legs. I'm only beginning to find comfort in this pleasure when I remember Leevy, stretched out naked in some stranger's bed as some grotesque Capitol kids take advantage of her.

Almost instantly, I shut off the stream of water, feeling disgusted with myself. I dry my body with a towel that feels too soft and too plush. I don't bother to blow dry my hair, instead I only braid it, in order to keep the wet strands from clinging uncomfortably to my back.

By the time I've exited the bathroom, there's a tray of food waiting on my desk with one of those decorative silver lids that makes it look unnecessarily fancy. I stare at my bowl of soup as if the best way to absorb it is through your eyes. There's a basket of artisan bread that accompanies it and I select a slice that's dense and hearty with various types of seeds. I dip the bread into the creamy broth, but am unable to find the strength to lift it to my mouth. All I can think of is Leevy, and how my disruption of her arrangement will mean she most likely won't have any food on the table tomorrow. I drop the bread into he soup, sliding it across the table and hiding it from sight with the giant silver lid.

I'm still not tired, but there's nothing left for me to do but sit here trapped in my thoughts. I return to the bathroom and pull open all the drawers and cabinets until I stumble across the small capsule of pills. I don't bother checking the dosage, instead I tap three pills into my hand and swallow them dry. These are prescription, from my newly appointed therapist, to help soothe my anxiety after I'd complained that I had a hard time sleeping. Some nights they offer me an escape into dreamless sleep, but most days I become trapped in my nightmares. I don't have a good feeling about tonight.

By the time my head hits the pillow, I'm swallowed into the warped aisles of Arena grocery store. High in the rafters, I spot Rue, poised on the steel beams and standing lookout like a guardian angel. She giggles as she leaps about as if she were skipping over tree boughs. Suddenly she freezes and her face grows pale. She points into the darkness and no matter how close I move towards it, I can never see what she sees.

I race down every aisle and they swirl together like a maze for a mouse. I feel like I've traveled miles even though the store is only a couple thousand square feet. I find the doors to the stock room, but when I push through them, I'm suddenly transported to the woods. It's dark and the branches twist in my path in a treacherous way. I hear what I think is the howl of a coyote, but it's followed with the whoops and cackles that are distinctly human.

"Katniss, run!" I hear Peeta shout and I do, but I don't run away, as his voice intended, instead I run towards it.

"Peeta!" I shout. I push away the branches and they cut at my flesh, but I continue on undeterred.

He's just come into sight when there's a loud crack. The room turns red from the blood that leaks from his leg and Peeta's eyes lock on mine, wide and in shock before he collapses lifelessly to the floor.

"Peeta!" I scream again, but this time it's into the empty darkness of my bedroom.

The air conditioning leaves the house cool and dry, but when I wake I'm covered in a cold sheen of sweat. My sheets are wrapped around my ankles, binding them tightly so that I'm immobile. Outside, another crash of thunder crackles through the sky, sending a rumble through the walls. Water falls in a thick sheet that drums in erratic beats against the roof.

My heart pounds so loudly that if deafens my ears. I dig my fingers into the plush mattress, hoping to ground myself to reality, but it's no use. I need to find Peeta. I need to make sure he's safe.

I throw on a sweatshirt and a pair of boots and climb out my bedroom window. There's a trellis that runs along this wall that is more than capable of supporting my weight, and I scale down it with ease.

The rain weighs me down as it soaks through my clothing, and I feel my limbs grow heavy with every stride. There's a fence that separates our estates that's two meters high, and even slick with water, it's no challenge for me to clear. I collapse into his yard, the ground soft and muddy beneath my feet, and I scramble through it to regain my sprint like pace.

Peeta's room is on the second floor, like mine, but there's a giant Oak tree in front of it, with a sturdy branch that stretches out a few meters above the sill. I grip the rough bark and hoist myself up its length. My breath hitches in my throat and I let out a cry that's swallowed by the sound of thunder as I hitch my leg over the trunk. I shimmy across the branch and fall into the window that's always open, even when it's raining.

I medicate to try and find sleep, but Peeta avoids the concept all together. Instead he watches television through the night, usually cooking shows, and takes notes on loose leaf for tweaks in recipes or dishes he'd like to try. There's a stack of paper as tall as the lamp on his desk from all the nights he's evaded his nightmares.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asks, his voice light but his smile sad.

I restrain myself from darting across the room to take him in my arms, and resign myself to accept the sight of him alive, and okay as a suitable alternative. My breath settles, along with my heartbeat, my anxiety drowning in the rain.

"Not on nights like this," I say, and nod towards the storm outside.

His eyes flit over me. "You're soaked," he says. He turns his chair so that it's facing me and folds his hands in his lap. "Do you need to take a shower?"

"I already have," I say, then look down at the pool of water that's forming at my feet. "Twice, apparently." I strip my sweatshirt over my head and hold it at arms length, unsure of what to do with it. "Maybe a dry shirt," I say.

He stands and takes the drenched article from me. "I think I may have one or two I could spare," he says, moving to the bathroom to drop the hoodie into the tub, before disappearing into his closet. He reappears with a fresh tee shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

I accept them and slip off my soiled clothing before he has the chance to turn away. I'm still wearing my underclothes, and we've seen one another in only our swim suites often enough this summer to bother hiding my modesty.

"What are you watching?" I ask, untucking my braid from the collar of my shirt.

He lifts the remote towards the television and the screen goes blank. "Cupcake Wars," he says sheepishly, tossing the controller back onto his desk. "Some of their filling combinations are really interesting."

"You don't have to turn it off," I say. I don't mind staying up, in fact I'd almost prefer it.

"No, it's fine," he says. "Would you like to lay down?"

Peeta's bed is larger than mine, but there comes a point where the extra square feet of mattress makes little difference. He sweeps all the unnecessary pillows to the floor and draws back the comforter. Peeta's family has a fleet of servants too, that make up his bed with elaborate dressings, which go unappreciated because they only represent an additional hurdle in the bedtime routine.

I climb into bed, settling onto the side that has been distinguished as "mine" and pull the sheet to my chin. He follows suit and lays down beside me. He picks up his pillow and drops it next to mine, so that we can lie more closely. I welcome his proximity and abandon my pillow to rest my head on his chest instead.

The sound of his heartbeat fills my ear, and for once when my eyes slip shut I feel calm instead of terror.

"What was it this time?" He says. One arm wraps around my waist, to hold me securely, while the other gently cups my cheek. The pad of his thumb traces the dark circles that run along my cheek bone, a telltale sign from my battle with sleep.

"We were trapped in Arena," I say into his chest. "I could hear Cato laughing, but I couldn't find you in time. I never get to you in time."

"I'm okay," he says, his voice a strangled whisper. "You saved me, remember?"

My eyes grow cloudy and I'm blinded by the tears that fill my eyes. They leak onto Peeta's tank, leaving a warm pool that quickly turns cool. His arms tighten around me and he begins to rock our bodies back and forth. "It's okay," he says over and over, like if he chants it enough, I'll believe him.

"It's all my fault," I hiccough. "I shouldn't have been so arrogant. You could have been killed."

"Katniss," he says, lifting my body from his so that I'm forced to look at him. "Nothing you did justified Cato pulling a gun. In no way are you responsible for a bullet going through my leg."

The thought of it sends another chill down my spine. I push down the sheets to our feet and sit up. My fingers go to the hem of his boxer shorts, lifting them up his thigh until the pink, dimpled scar is exposed. The color is still deep and tender to the tough. He flinches when I trace it, but I need to be sure that the barrier won't break.

I bend down to drop a kiss to his scar and his entire body shudders in response.

"See," he says tightly. "I'm okay."

Content, I lay my head back on his chest, and he lifts the sheets to canopy over our bodies. His kisses my forehead and smooths his hands up and down my back, while I focus on the steady thud of his heartbeat.

It's completely different from the heated passion we shared earlier. While I enjoy the kissing, this physical comfort seems essential to my survival. I've taken it on as my duty to make sure that this boy, this man is safe, because it is only in his arms now, that I can find sanity. And this feeling leaves me more terrified than any of my nightmares.

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_As always, thanks for the feedback. Check out my tumblr (**absnow**) if you ever get bored or have any burning questions. I love your thoughts._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I keep on telling myself I'm not going to update this until I finish "And Your Bird Can Sing," but then kismet4891 and misshoneywell start sending me the sweetest messages (and writing fanfic about it, which I seriously want to read Jessa) and I have to update! We're almost through filling in back story and shit is in the process of getting real. Hope you enjoy!_

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My sleep is the type that evades dreams. One moment I'm counting the beats of Peeta's heart and the next, my eyes are easing open at the first rays of sunlight that trickle through his bedroom window. My neck is stiff from the way I slept, curled around his body, and by the time I've managed to lift my head, I see that he's awake.

"No nightmares?" he says.

He's so close that I can feel the heat from his chest warm my cheeks into a blush. Waking up beside him has become a somewhat regular occurrence, but I'm still not completely comfortable with it.

"No nightmares," I confirm. I roll onto my side to free him from my weight, and we both stretch the sleep from our limbs.

Peeta checks the time off the clock on his bedside table and let's out a groan.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

His hair is matted and sticking out in random directions. He brushes his hand through it so that it's still messy, but in a more controlled manner. "There's filming for my father's show this morning. The camera crew is probably downstairs already."

"I thought that was filmed at the bakery," I say, smoothing the unruly curls that had evaded his reach.

"It is," he says. "But since my mother's gotten involved in this political campaign, the producers have decided to incorporate it into the show."

"Campaign?" I'm a bit surprised by the news. "Since when?"

Peeta's mother is what you could call a social climber. The Mellarks had lived comfortablly in the now extinct middle class – she managing the Arena Grocery Store and Mr. Mellark running his bakery. Things began to shift in Panem at the time, and many merchants found themselves slipping to the same ranks as those from the Seam. Seams were cheaper to employ, so greedy shop owners laid off their higher wadge employees to keep up with the wealth of the emerging Capitol class. The remaining merchants either left Panem for new opportunities, or were absorbed into the Seam.

Mrs. Mellark was a merchant that desperately clung to the bottom rungs of the Capitol. Part of the standard Arena uniform became steel gray eyes and dark, wiry hair after she fired her more experienced staff members. These cuts only got her so far into society, and while the Mellarks survived the disintegration of the middle class, their wealth was nowhere near that of the Circenex shareholders.

Unable to become a part of that empire, she decided to start one of her own. Mr. Mellark may be credited with the recipes for Mellarkable pies, but it was Mrs. Mellark who sold the recipes to a major corporation. The frozen desserts became so popular that the Mellark's bakery became a must stop tourist destination for those passing through Panem. It was around this time that Peeta's mother left Arena Grocery Store to Mr. Undersee, so she could focus her time on developing a reality show revolving around the baker and his family.

Mrs. Mellark's ideals will only prove to crush the Seam class further, I worry. If she has thrown her hat into the campaign to incorporate Panem, then no good can come of it.

"I'm not sure," Peeta says. He rises from the bed, moving about the room as he begins to collect fresh clothing for the day. "She started attending these special meetings in the last couple of weeks, and last night at dinner she announced that we were expanding the show for it."

"I guess that's my cue to leave," I say, and kick the sheets from my feet. My clothes from last night have dried by now, and I've just reached them when Peeta stops me.

"You should stay," he says. I'm not crazy about the idea of sticking around, but I can tell by his wicked smile that he would like me to. "You know how much Mother adores you."

Even though I'd rather not spend my morning in front of video cameras, or beneath the heated glare of his mother, Peeta denies me nothing, so how could I of him. "Anything for a free meal."

"Great. I'm going to take a shower. Will you be all right?" I nod, and he disappears behind the bathroom door.

There's an antique looking dresser with a large mirror, which I use to check my appearance, since the vanity in the bathroom is currently occupied. I untie my hair and comb the loose strands over my shoulders. The waves are still damp from sleeping in a braid, and when I realize those at breakfast will probably assume Peeta and I have showered together, I find myself feeling strangely pleased.

I'm still dressed in Peeta's shorts and shirt – the only alternative being the cotton shorts and tee shirt I had come in last night, neither of which seem appropriate for the filming of a television show. Perhaps his mother will lend me an outfit, I muse, and nearly laugh out loud at the thought.

Peeta appears behind me in the mirror, still towling off his hair. "Change of plans," I tell him. "You're going to have to eat without me. I haven't a thing to wear."

"What do you mean?" he says, his expression puzzled.

"I can't go to breakfast dressed in pajamas," I say, speaking to him through our reflection.

"Why not?" he asks. I realize he's dressed similarly in a white undershirt and gym shorts. He laughs at me, his voice teasing when he says: "Who gets dressed up for breakfast?" He steps beside me and pinches the hem of my tee shirt between his fingers. I watch him through the mirror as he places his chin on my shoulder. "Besides, I like you in my clothing." His mouth is close to my ear. I turn my head towards his and smile. "They look much better on you than on me."

I look back at our reflection. We look as if we could be lovers, maybe in some way we are.

He takes my hand, and we descend the stairs towards the commotion bellow. His family is gathered around the large island that sits at the edge of the kitchen. There are tall bar stools that line the perimeter and they're so new, they still have the tags on. The family usually eats their meals in the formal dinning room on the other side of the foyer, but I've come to understand that this "breakfast" isn't for the food. It's to show how relatable the Mellarks are to us common folk. They look to be the perfect family, save for the studio lights and camera crew.

A production assistant appears next to us, clipping a small microphone to the collar of Peeta's tee shirt, while reciting instructions on where to secure his battery pack. A second assistant soon follows, untangling wires on another microphone that they've obviously dug out in a panic, not anticipating an additional guest.

Peeta's brothers are the first to recognize my presence, and immediately bow their heads to stifle their laughter. Mrs. Mellark is busy plating pancakes – she didn't cook – and doesn't seem to notice. She's donning a frilly pink apron, to show off what a regular Donna Reed she is. It would almost be funny, if she weren't so terrifying.

"Peeta, there you are," she says, her voice bright in a way that puts me on edge. Instantly I can see where Peeta has learned to slip into an act so effortlessly. She still has her back to us – she's too focused on the cameras, so her voice remains playfully stern as she continues. "I thought I told you breakfast would be served promptly at nine."

"Looks like he was occupied," Peeta's brother, the middle one, Cartee, says as he scoops another pile of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"What could he possib–" the cheer in her voice falters as she begins to turn around. Our eyes meet and the white porcelain platter shatters when it hits the floor. "What's _she_ doing here?" she sneers.

"I invited her," Peeta says calmly, and draws back the last vacant stool from the table.

She quickly recovers from her shock and her expression softens Unfortunately it's no use, as her smile is too tight to be genuine. "I wish you had told me," she says. "If I'd known, I would have set an extra place."

Peeta's mother snaps her fingers to call attention to one of the crew members. A poor little Seam girl, probably an unpaid intern, appears to help. Mrs. Mellark points expectantly at one of the fancy iron chairs, as if she can't be bothered to vocalize her request.

"We only ordered five stools," the girl says meekly.

His mother looks pleased, assuming I won't be staying, until Peeta speaks up. "That's fine, we can share." He sits down and abruptly tugs on my hand so that I fall into his lap. The seat is barely built for one person, let alone two, and he has to keep an arm wrapped tightly around my waist to keep me from slipping.

His mother's expression hardens, but she doesn't object. She and Peeta stare at one another in the same way I used to stare down competing predators in the woods during a hunt. She can't say a word on the matter and he knows it. They all know what will happen if she tries to take me from him.

After the accident, while Peeta was still recovering in the hospital, Mrs. Mellark hired a security guard to keep watch over his room. It was a reasonable request – he had just been assaulted – but her intentions became obvious the moment I was denied access. I had only been able to visit him once since he had been admitted, and in that brief time, Peeta had demanded the unthinkable by requesting my protection through our legal troubles. I was proving to be a bigger threat to the Mellarks than any little bullet wound.

Mrs. Mellark was never a fan of mine. Most of this stemmed from the romance my mother had shared with Peeta's father through high school. I didn't much resemble my mother, but when you're keen on holding a grudge, it's easy to overlook these details. In his mother's eyes, Peeta's fondness for me was a slap in the face. A constant reminder that although she wore the baker's ring, his heart would always belong to that Odair girl. A love that transcended generations.

Before the accident, Peeta bore the brunt of Mrs. Mellark's insecurities. She would beat him over trivial things, and Peeta, wanting to protect everyone – even her – from pain, would simply accept it. This changed after the accident. He grew more confident, and in a way more selfish. While in the hospital, he had caught onto my absence, and ignored his mother's claims that I hadn't returned to see him, refusing to believe her.

The truth was, I hadn't left the hospital once. Peeta was there for three days to recover, and during that time I sat vigil in the waiting room, afraid that if I wasn't there, something cataclysmic would happen. Every monitor or alarm that sounded sent me into a panic, convinced that Peeta had died and that it was all my fault.

One night I woke to the sound of shouting. It sounded like a madman, screaming at the top of his lungs to no one in particular. The crazed calls were met with violent crashes, drawing the attention of the entire wing. One of Peeta's brothers came to get me. He didn't say a word. Only stood at the edge of the waiting room with his hands in his pockets, before he nodded his head down the hall.

I wasn't sure what to expect, but it was easy to recognize that the voice crying out belonged to Peeta, and I knew that this outburst was somehow my doing.

Mrs. Mellark stood outside of his room with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes unmoving. She stared at me coldly, her last resort for asserting her dominance, before she stepped aside to allow me access.

Peeta's voice was hoarse by now, his hair matted by sweat, and his eyes wide, almost crazed. I ran to him. Climbed into his bed to hold him tightly, and did my best to soothe him. He cried, his tears soaking my shirt and before I knew it, I was crying too and clinging to him for dear life.

"Why don't you hate me?" I demanded, angry that he could be so forgiving when I had used him so selfishly.

"I have to protect you," he said, and I understood fully.

After that nobody dare to separate us. With all the negative attention Peeta was drawing to the family name, they couldn't afford to have their son go mad. And so, a blind eye was turned whenever I was found in Peeta's bed, and no one spoke a word when we put on such displays at the breakfast table.

Least of all his mother, who can only bite her tongue with rapturous contempt as she watches us from across the kitchen.

The spread on the table looks so ravenous, I don't know where to begin. I pile our plate with eggs and berries and pancakes that I load with heaping scoops of sweet cream. Peeta only has one hand free, so I stab bits of pancake onto my fork and feed him over my shoulder. He returns in kind by picking up berries from our plate with his fingers, and slipping them between my lips. We must look deliriously happy, because the cameras seem to have forgotten the rest of the table and now swarm around us.

The producer quickly loses his patience for our display and clears his throat, loudly. "Tamora, would you like to share why you've called this breakfast?" he prompts.

Mrs. Mellark sits on her stool and folds her hands in front of her plate. Her ashy hair is swept back into a perfect chignon, and the blush that accents her cheeks makes her face look more angular and harsh than usual. All the Mellark boys have gentle, round features that they inherited from their father. Only their mother's coloring seems to have been passed along.

"As you know, there are some changes coming to our community," she says.

"Pending the unlikely passing of an insane motion," Peeta says into my ear, his voice soft enough so only I can hear. I don't want to draw attention to myself. I'm already enough of an interloper. But I agree with him, and I can't fully suppress the choke of laughter that escapes my lips.

"And I'd like to help build a stronger – a more united Panem," she says, oblivious to my and Peeta's exchange.

"By cutting out the troublesome, less agreeable part," he murmurs. His thoughts are the same as my own and I find that to be a relief. Peeta has no reason to have a strong opinion on the matter, given his means, yet he stays true to his beliefs. He's not afraid to speak his mind, no matter what other's will think of him. I only wish I could be so confident.

"I've decided to run for office," she says.

The reveal isn't surprising. It is something that everyone at the table was already aware of. Mr. Mellark does his best to appear genuinely stunned, but Peeta, his brothers, and I barely look up from our breakfast at her announcement.

"What do you guys think of that?" asks the producer, hoping we'll become more engaged, I assume.

"I thought Snow was a shoo in for mayor," I recognize the sound of my voice and quickly stuff my mouth with pancakes, hoping that no one will pay me any attention.

Mrs. Mellark looks at me pointedly, her sneer unmistakeable, as if working up an infinite series of insults all in a single breath. Her eyes flit towards the camera and instantly soften. "Coriolanus Snow has brought great prosperity to the people of Panem," she says, like a true politician. "And has rightfully earned their respect. I only hope to serve in his vision of a new Panem as his deputy mayor."

"Wow, Mother," Peeta says, speaking more brazenly this time. All eyes in the room are on him now. He rests his chin on my shoulder as he speaks. "You're so accustomed to running the show. I didn't think you knew how to play a sidekick."

Cartee snickers, his face hidden behind his glass of milk, but Peeta's older brother, Saleethi looks more concerned than amused at Peeta's antics.

"This isn't about a title," she says. "Even the strongest foundation is worthless if the structure it holds is built with a deck of cards. Every piece counts." She's silent as she smears jam on a piece of toast. Her hand shakes as it grips the knife, her motions tense as if bottling the rage that surges through her. "Coriolanus Snow could learn a thing or two about the concept. Seeing as his company is a breath away from toppling, with all the fat wallets he stores at the top."

Mrs. Mellark has a point. Panem is ruled by the founding members of Circenex, and the town's livelihood depends squarely on the success of this single industry. The company has been thriving for decades though, with no sign of slowing down, so there's really no reason to question the faith that the people of Panem invest in it.

I'm the last person who should be speaking ill of Circenex. Especially since I owe my new found family wealth entirely to my grandfather's innovation. I dare not agree with Peeta's mother though, and instead keep my head bowed as she continues her tirade.

"There's no denying he will be a great leader, I'm sure," she says. She's like a ticking time bomb quickly diffused by the cameras before becoming unstable again. "He's not the only person in this town that can build a successful empire though. The Mellarks have brought a lot to this community, and it's time our hard work was recognized."

"A higher obesity rate, maybe," Cartee says. Everyone at the table laughs at this, save Mrs. Mellark. When Cartee reaches for a danish, she slaps his hand away and shoots him a scolding glare. No one laughs after this.

I feel Peeta's arm tighten around me and wonder what sorts of memories have been triggered. The others at the table seems to cower slightly, all, no doubt, because of the cold woman at the head of the table. I want to comfort Peeta, to make sure he's all right, without drawing too much attention. I pick a berry off our plate to feed him, so that I'll have an excuse to face him. He stares at his mother with hard eyes, but acknowledges my gesture, catching my hand in his so that he can kiss the inside of my wrist.

Usually when he does things like this, it comes off as intimate or sweet. This move however is clearly calculated to pinch the nerve on his mother that he knows is weakest. It works, and she looks away quickly as if she has been struck.

"He has done something right, which is why I'm backing him with my full support," she says. Her voice starts off small but grows with certainty. "There is a pat of this community that hasn't been able to carry their weight. They rely on those who are able to work an honest living, and they fester our streets with crime."

This is a straight shot at me, and everyone in the room knows it. Even the production crew seem to be in on the secret, and I see one of the camera lenses focus on me.

"I hadn't known you were so concerned with our safety, Mother," Peeta says.

She falters for a brief moment at the slap his words make. "I'm concerned we could be taken advantage of. Even Circenex seems vulnerable to this danger."

"I'll be sure to warn them," I say. This isn't anything I haven't heard before, but I can see things escalating rather unfavorably at this point, and I'd rather not lend credence to my reputation. I'm trapped in Peeta's lap however, but he recognizes that I want to leave and frees me. "In fact I'm supposed to be meeting with the board this afternoon. Which is why I should be go."

There is some truth to my claim. I had been summoned to Cirenex headquarters for an afternoon meeting. The invitation via my cousin, Finnick, was vague, and oddly timed, seeing as it was scheduled for a Sunday. I hadn't planned on attending, but that detail doesn't currently seem important.

I had assumed it would only be a photo opportunity for Snow's campaign. Probably to present me with a useless plaque, honoring the fact that I share DNA with the great Leir Odair. But most importantly to remind the Seam class that Snow's ambitions are not a threat to them, not with Katniss Everdeen on his side.

Peeta looks concerned at my abrupt exit, and I squeeze his hand to assure him that I'm okay.

"Oh Katniss," Mrs. Mellark calls after me. "If you're heading that way..." she stands from the table and moves to the other side of the kitchen, where she retrieves a stack of papers. "I was going to have my assistant message these posters to Mr. Snow, but you're more than capable of the task, right?" Mrs. Mellark's assistant probably isn't Seam, but the intern that would be sent to complete this task would be, making Mrs. Mellark's implications entirely clear.

Her insults don't affect me though, because I have no reason to be ashamed of the Seam. We're hardworking and loyal, I'd trade all the wealth in the world to be considered a Seam over a Cap, if it weren't for the welfare of my sister. I lift my chin proudly and I accept the papers from her.

Peeta catches me once more before I can make my exit and pulls me against him. He kisses me hard, his hands low on my hips, so that my entire body is pressed to his. There's hunger, fire, and I give into it because in this moment I feel the same rebellious flicker as him. We part, but his arms stay wrapped around me. "I'll see you later," he says. He kisses my forehead, his lips so tender against my skin that I find it more intimate than the passionate kiss we've just shared.

The walk to my house is far too brief, and when I find myself nearing the front door, my feet continue on their own accord. I move across the grounds. Through the gardens and to the fence that leads to my beloved woods. There's more than a mile of trees that separate the Odair estate from the edge of the Seam, but this stretch of land has felt like my home for years.

I have no need to collect from the land as I did before. I have more money than I know what to do with, and an army of servants keep us fed even when we aren't hungry. That kind of lifestyle leaves me feeling suffocated and restless. It's unsettling to know that while I now live in luxury, those I once suffered along side of still fear for their next meal.

Those from the Seam are too proud to accept handouts, especially from a Cap. They consider my move to be a betrayal, even if the money I accepted was from my family. Offering food, clothing, or shelter would be considered the worst kind of charity. A spit in the face to those not as fortunate as me.

I was hoping that Gale of all people would understand. His family has always been mine, and mine his. We've looked out for one another, have understood the other fully. That all changed after the accident.

He hated that I sided with a couple of rich boys, even though my neck was on the line just as much as theirs. Gale was convinced I could fight the possible drug charges, and become a hero to Panem by bringing balance to the two factions of the community. I wasn't nearly as certain, especially with my sister to worry about, getting caught up in a legal battle against a multimillionaire was a suicide mission I wasn't willing to volunteer for.

He was reluctant, but Gale accepted my decision, and continued to stand by me. That was until my house in the Seam was torched to the ground. Gale was ready to lead a charge against the Capitol, but I wasn't convinced that the fire was sparked by their hands. In the weeks after the accident, I noticed how cold steel eyes watched me as if I were an outsider in my own home, and I suspected that the fire was a message to me that I no longer belonged.

Now homeless and penniless, we were desperate to find new shelter. The Hawthornes were adamant we stay with them, but their home was no bigger than ours, and with Gale, his mother, and three young siblings, there was no room for three additional tenants.

It was at this time Peeta introduced me to my own cousin, Finnick Odair, at a charity event that seemed more an excuse to model the new summer fashion line than to support a cause. Finnick was only vaguely aware of my existence, and had grown up with the assumption that my mother's banishment from the family was of her choosing.

He was the one to suggest we stay at the Odair Estate, and for days I refused the offer. My mother and I rarely agreed on things, but for once, she was adamant we find our own way to survive. It wasn't until Prim caught wind that we were forced to consider the offer. Prim, who sees the good in everyone, and is too innocent to see how truly ugly the world is. She took to Finnick immediately, and there was no refusing her what made her happy.

To say Gale felt betrayed by this decision would be an understatement. I had chosen a side, and for all intents and purposes, had built an insurmountable wall between us. I didn't want to abandon our friendship, but continuing in the way it had once been seemed impossible. The only way I could hope to find the familiarity that seemed to be lost forever was through the woods.

I continued to set snares in our favorite hunting grounds, hoping to run into him, or to at least add to his daily haul. Sometimes I'd even sit in the meadow on a Sunday, at our favorite blackberry patch, and wait for him for hours, but he'd never show.

A branch snaps beneath my foot, the crack echoing through the canopy of trees and bringing me back to attention. In the woods I'm usually silent. My movement is with the wind and my feet fall no louder than the leaves that cover the forest floor. I grimace when another stick breaks beneath my weight, perhaps I'm not as skilled as I had once been. I try not to let this bother me, but when I reach my snares and see that each one of them has collapsed without a single catch, I feel disheartened.

I don't bother resetting them, and instead I collapse at the base of an old oak tree to clear my head. The campaign posters that Mrs. Mellark left with me are still heavy in my hand, although they are now crinkled and worn, bunched in my fist. I flatten one of the sheets to read it:

_For your family,_

_For your peace of mind,_

_Incorporate Panem._

There's a family in the meadow, all with shiny golden locks and bright blue eyes. They hold hands and smile as the sunset bathes them in a beautiful orange glow. I rip the page down the center, and continue to tear it apart until all that's left is bits of confetti. I pick up another poster and it suffers the same fate.

I want this to all go away, to return to the way it had been before. I know it's an impossible request, but destroying these posters makes me feel like I'm in control for once. There's a lighter tucked into the bed of leaves beside me – the woods are a popular place for Seam kids to get high in, and they leave relics of this debauchery everywhere. There's wet dirt caked in the gears from the storm last night, and I have to flick the ignition a few times with my thumb to get it in working order. Sparks spill from the flint and finally a flame springs to life, mesmerizing me as it dances in the calm wind until the light burns my eyes.

I reach for one of the glossy posters and dip the corner into the flame until the fire catches on the page. I watch the corner fade into ash, but it quickly extinguishes into a few wisps of smoke. I light it again, and the flame eats a bit more of the page before succumbing to the spring breeze.

"Everyone thinks all they need is a spark and a little kindling, and everything will go up in blazes," I freeze at the familiar sound of Gale's voice, but don't dare to look up to meet his eye. His worn leather boots appear in my line of vision and he crouches before me to reach for another campaign poster. He places it over the fire from my lighter, but unlike me, he holds the page closely to him to block the wind, and it burns easily until the flames bite his fingers and he lets the rest smolder on the ground. "It's the oxidizer that keeps it going," he says. "Didn't you learn anything in science class, Catnip?"

I sneak a glance at Gale and am startled by what I see. His lip is cut and swollen and a dark purple bruise lines his left eye.

"What happened?" I say.

"Had a run in with some of your friends last night?" he says. He burns another page and doesn't elaborate.

"With who?" I ask.

"A couple of guys took advantage of Leevy, and I didn't like that very much," he says.

The lighter drops from my hand. "She's – she's okay, right?"

"She was higher than a kite, couldn't even be bothered with the fact she was almost raped," says Gale.

"I know," I say, and am too ashamed to look at him. "Peeta and I were the ones who brought her home."

"How noble," he says, clearly unimpressed. "And I'm sure those scumbags you hang out with learned a really good lesson from that."

"Gale," I plead. "You know I hate this just as much as you."

"Really?" he says. He let's out an incredulous chuckle as he traces his finger through the ash we've formed. "Because afterward, your good friend Mark Cato – he was so impressed with my performance, he offered me 500 bucks to participate in his new video venture. Bum fights."

I feel like I'm going to vomit. Cato is only roaming the streets because I let him get away with his sociopath behavior, and now he's dragging Gale into it.

"I never meant for things to be this way," I say, but my voice is so small it barely breaks the rustling of the leaves.

"It's a war out there Katniss," he says. "You've seen it, you've even gotten your hands dirty. And I know you think you're staying neutral, that you can get by without picking a side, but the tides are about to turn." He stands to his feet, and from where I sit he seems ten feet tall. "We're not going down without a fight. Those little Capitol shits think they can get away with murder because they have all the money in the world to pay for their crimes. But not for long."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I say. The passion in Gale's voice frightens me, and I'm worried he's about to do something dangerous.

"The money that Panem hides behind," says Gale. He picks up the lighter and another poster from the ground, and lights it. "It's about to go up in smoke."

* * *

_As always, thanks for reading. Feel free to leave your thoughts, I always enjoy them. Don't forget to follow Everlark week on tumblr (**promptsinpanem**) the first week in October, and follow my spiral into insanity as I work out all the crazy AU, Dawson's Creek related situations I want to throw Peeta and Katniss in at (**absnow**)._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Wow, I did not even realize that it's been more than 3 months since I've last updated this. But, my other WIP has finished, and there are no distracting challenges on the horizon (no matter how much I love PiP) so I'm hoping that I can really dive into this for the new year. This one is a bit short, but it sets up a lot of action (I hope) so hopefully it was worth the wait. Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoy!_

* * *

I feel the blood drain until my cheeks are numb. My weak grasp on the political fliers slackens further, until the force from the wind carries them away. Gale has spoken this way before, but there's something different. A certainty in his tone that he rarely possesses.

Often when we've discussed the corruption of Panem, it's been frustrated musings. "What if we all quit?" he would say. "What if we started our own business, a little friendly competition." There was never a foundation or a direction to his thoughts. His words were never dripping with some level of threat.

"Up in smoke?" I repeat, unable to hide the quiver to my tone.

Gale looks at me carefully. A hesitance in his movements that he's never used in my confidence before. Like he doesn't trust me.

He nudges the pile of newly formed ash with the toe of his boots, before letting out a heavy sigh. "If someone asked you why things in Panem were so unfair, what would you say?"

"The Caps," I say easily.

"But what made them Caps in the first place?" he says.

I ponder this question momentarily. The Caps came from money. Money they've had for years – as long as I can remember anyway. Ever since Snow and my grandfather brought them wealth.

"Circinex?" I ask, my eyebrows creasing together with confusion.

"The average income for Pamen was $22,000 a year before Circinex, if you adjust for inflation. After? Ninety, Katniss." He shakes his head with a sour sounding chuckle. "I could give you a few more numbers, but let's just say, a small percentage of the community swing the value so high, and a very large percentage of that cashes a check printed from the Circinex's payroll department."

"That's no secret," I say. In fact, we've been complaining about it for years.

"That kind of money can give you an awful lot of power," he continues. "And put you under a lot of pressure," he adds.

I rise to my feet and brush the crumpled leaves from the forest floor that have clung to my shorts. I'm not unfamiliar with the feeling of money and power. I have too much of it now for my own good, and I hate every second of it. Gale must sense this from the look that I give him, and he nods somberly.

"Snow and Odair had a lot of people to please after they made them all that money," he says.

"That sounds awfully familiar," I mumble, placing my hands on my hips.

He looks at me knowingly. "But they couldn't sustain that growth forever. Not the honest way, at least."

"And so those with wealth stayed wealthy, while the poor lost their piece of the pie," I fill in the details for him. Snow wanted to keep the rich and powerful happy, so cutting wages from the lower earners, who couldn't afford to lose their jobs entirely, only made sense.

"Not like that," he says. "They could never expand that way." His lips purse together, as if looking for the best words – not one of Gale's fortes. I feel myself leaning my weigh onto my heels, unable to fully brace myself for what he is about to say. "They took shortcuts. Dangerous kinds. With cheaper chemicals and human lab rats."

"Isn't that common practice though?" The concept of selling one's body for science or signing up for drug trials immediately comes to mind. In fact, I considered it often when we were too poor to buy even a candy bar, but I was too young to give my consent.

"Not when it's banned by the FDA," he says. "They knew it was bad, Katniss, they just wanted to see what sort of fillers they could use and still get away with it."

He glances over his shoulder before taking a step closer, lowering his voice even though there is no one around to hear. "Alma Coin, the representative from the thirteenth district, she used to work in the labs when she was younger. Saw some crazy things. Mad science type shit. With cloning and radioactive mutations and things."

I'm skeptical as to how a high profile company could get away with such things, especially within a small community. People talk, and most importantly people – namely the Seam, would give anything to watch Circinex topple. If this has been going on since Alma Coin was an employee, news would have spread years ago.

"And why hasn't anyone come forward?" I question.

"The same reason anyone would keep quiet," Gale shrugs. "Money."

"Then what's changed?" I ask. The money certainly hasn't.

"There's this neighborhood in the Thirteenth District," he says. He runs a hand through his hair, like he's hesitant to speak around me. This stance is foreign between us. We've always been at complete ease with one another. "No one can have kids," he continues. "It's been going on for years now, but nobody talked about it. But then they started running into each other at fertility clinics and adoption agencies. Started to connect the dots."

"What does that have to do with Circinex?"

"There's no proof, but apparently there was a waste runoff that went into a creek that runs through this neighborhood." He moves away, picking up a fallen branch from the forest floor that he begins to pluck it clean of its pine needles. "A creek that the kids would swim in during the summers. Back in the eighties, a drug trial went terribly wrong, and they dumped everything. One of the side effects? Infertility."

"But you said there's no proof," I argue. "How do you know all of this?"

"It's been in motion for years now, Katniss," he says, frustration rising in his voice. "Snow has to be stopped. There are people on the inside. People everywhere."

I narrow my eyes. "Who?"

"I can't tell you," he says with a heavy, defeated sigh.

"You don't trust me?"

"I do, really," he says. He tosses the branch and it crashes against the trunk of a distant tree. "You're in too deep. Snow's in your head."

"That's why I can help," I say. "I want him to fry just as much as the rest of you."

"When news breaks, there are going to be a lot of fines, and court fees, and settlements. Circinex will be done, and every body with money tied up in it will be broke." He pauses. "Especially your new found family. The Odair name is going to get drudged through the mud just as much as Snow's."

And I'll be back to being penniless on the streets. A cold shiver runs up my spine, and I fold my arms tightly across my chest to suppress it. "What am I supposed to do Gale?"

He glances over his shoulder again, even though we're in the dead of the woods, where no one would ever cross our paths.

"Get out while you still can," he says sternly, and then he's off. Walking briskly, yet silently across the forest floor.

My knees buckle beneath my weight, and I steady myself against a tree to keep from falling. The news leaves me feeling dizzy. I'm anxious. Excited, yet frightened. Circinex's downfall could restore order to Panem. But without it, what would any of us have?

I shake away such thoughts, feeling selfish. If there's no Circinex, there's no money for me and my sister to live comfortably. It's this new lifestyle that we would be sacrificing, and one that I thought I would be happy to shed.

I make my way back through the woods towards the Odair Estate. With every step I take, I feel more disconnected from my own skin. I haven't grown accustomed to the luxuries afforded to me, but I haven't grown entirely opposed to them either. I was finally at ease that Prim would always be cared for. That she would have opportunities that I never thought to be possible. In the aftermath of this newest scandal, would we ever be able to recover?

My feet move from the plush, green grass to land on the marble patio of the Odair's gardens. It's entirely unnecessary, with it's ornate carvings and vine covered pillars. My mind is flooded with thoughts of who paid the price for these things.

I push through the back door, and the brass handle burns my hand like acid against my skin. I'm startled by the sound of pained screams that only seem to echo in my ears. Imprisoned by these uncovered memories of my grandfather's sins.

Rushing up the staircase, I encase myself in the privacy of my room. The meeting at Circinex is still looming, and my motivation to attend is lower than ever. Especially since it means facing the top members of the company with the information I now hold.

I inspect my reflection in the mirror. The gym shorts and tee shirt I wear from Peeta's closet are not at all appropriate, yet none of the fine pieces of business attire – that Effie has had Cinna stock my closet with – feel right either. I settle on a pair of dark jeans with my worn hunting boots that lace up to just beneath my knees, and one of the more casual dress shirts, which is still creased with the folds from the packaging.

As I run a brush through my hair and begin to rebraid it, my eyes drift o my bedroom window and settle on the grounds on the other side of ours. The Mellarks. I wonder if this is something that I can confide in Peeta with. His parents' fortune is entirely independent of Circinex, and his fondness for most of the entitled Caps in our pool of peers is equivalent to mine. Peeta is someone that I can trust, perhaps the only person whom I can truly depend on.

Before I can over think it, I'm marching us the stone walkway, my small fist beating against his front door. The camera crew must still be there for filming, because when the door swings open, no blue eyes meet mine. They're gray, Seam, but his hair is the color of copper.

"Hi," I say nervously. Already I can feel my resolve beginning to crumble. He says nothing, so I continue. "I'm here to see Peeta."

His eyes widen and he checks over his shoulder before looking back to me. His mouth gapes open, then quickly closes again. In this brief flash I see it. His tongue isn't a soft pink like my own, it's black. He shrugs his shoulders helplessly, not sure of how to direct me. I nod, encouraging him to speak, but words never form.

"Katniss, hey," Peeta is at my side now, and I let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he says, patting the production assistant on the arm to dismiss him.

"He's quiet," I say dumbly.

"Jealous?" he teases, quirking his eyebrows. "I know you thought you had that stoic, silent market cornered, but not everyone is as talkative as yours truly." His eyes flit over his shoulder at the production assistant's retreating form then he lowers his voice. "He can't speak," he explains. "His tongue is paralyzed."

"Oh," is all that I can respond with. My lips feel dry, and when my tongue darts out to wet them, I feel guilty. "I've never heard of that before."

"He went to school with my brother," he says. "He could talk fine back then, but I guess something happened. He must have gotten sick or something."

"Like a drug side effect?" I ask, my mind immediately jumps to the conversation I had with Gale in the woods.

"I don't know," Peeta shrugs. "Maybe." He touches his hand to my cheek, his fingers feeling impossibly warm against my skin, before he tips my chin up to look at him. "Hey, are you okay?"

I have to blink a few times to focus on the boy before me. "Yes. I'm fine," I say, but it's obvious that he sees right through me.

He places his other hand on my hip, and I cover it with mine to hold it in place. "And to what do I owe this pleasure? I thought you were off taking over corporations."

Terror must flash in my eyes, because his playful grin creases into a frown.

"Katniss, what's wrong?" he says, more sternly this time.

Words escape me. Even if I tell Peeta about the company and the scandal, what will he be able to do? On top of that, although his family isn't connected to Circinex, his mother is campaigning with Snow for Panem's incorporation. She and Peeta aren't civil with one another right now, but that doesn't mean he won't use this secret against her to humiliate her.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I jump out of his arms. "I thought I left my phone here," I say, and retrieve it from my pocket. "Here it is though." I look down at the display and see a text message from Finnick demanding my whereabouts. "I've got to go."

Peeta looks skeptical. "Okay," he says, and nods his head slowly. "But if something were wrong, you would tell me, right?"

"Of course," I say too quickly.

"You can trust me," he says, and I nod. "And I can trust you?"

I roll forward to press my lips against his in reply. His mouth is tense, but softens against the contact, plying to mold against my own. Nobody is watching, this kiss is ours, but it still feels tainted. I'll always be hiding something. I'll always find a way to let him down.

My lips suddenly taste sour and I abruptly pull away. "I've got to go," I say again, and he opens the door to see me off.

I'm a ghost as I walk to my car and the drive to Circinex flashes by as if it never happened.

The lobby of Circinex is amongst one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen. It's a grand rose garden, with plush chairs tucked between the rows of flowers. The ceiling is high, spanning several floors, and the glass walls flood the room with bright, natural light. The receptionist escorts me to a special elevator that will carry me directly to the board room, and as soon as the doors slide closed, the car shoots up to the top floor.

The elevator opens to reveal a room just as grand as the lobby, perhaps even more so. A long mahogany table stretches along the length of the room, surrounded by expensive looking leather chairs. Each seat is equipped with a personal tablet and leather bound notebook with platinum plated pen. I touch my fingers to the glossy surface of the table top, leaving a smudged finger print behind that instantly vanishes, as if cleaning itself.

"Katniss," I jump at the sound of my name, and lift my gaze to see my cousin, Finnick. He's standing in the doorway that leads to a sitting room on a rooftop patio. The other executives populate the tables out there. They munch on an elaborate looking lunch spread, while sipping on crystal drams of Whiskey.

Snow is amongst them, of course, but as my eyes scan the group of men, I'm startled to recognize Haymitch Abernathy too.

I follow Finnick towards the door, his teasing grin causing my own lips to curl into a smile despite my narrowed eyes. "Be cool, Everdeen," he whispers in my ear as he guides me onto the patio.

"Our guest of honor has arrived," Finnick announces, silencing the room. "You all know my dear cousin, Katniss Everdeen."

A few men lower their cigars long enough to acknowledge me. Unsurprisingly, I'm under dressed, as the dress code appears to be three thousand dollar suits. Everyone has abided to this. Even my dear mentor, Haymitch.

I move towards him first, bypassing Snow before he can break conversation with one of his associates. "What are _you_ doing here?" I ask, my voice lowering to a whisper.

"Board meeting," Haymitch says, taking a gulp from his whiskey. The only glass on the patio that's filled to the brim.

"Since when?" I demand.

"I've had shares for quite a while," he says. He picks a slab of beef off his plate with his fingers, stuffing it into his mouth before licking his fingers clean. "I wasn't aware that we were on the basis where I'd have to disclose all of my holdings."

I fold my arms across my chest. "Seems relevant," I say stubbornly. I want to walk away, but there's no one else in our company that I'd like to interact with, so I collapse, defeated in the chair beside him. "So what's this about?" I ask him, reaching over to his plate to snatch a roll.

"Oh just you wait," Haymitch says, the satisfied smirk on his face making me nervous.

"Gentlemen," Snow says. He's stood from the table that he was sitting at and is now in the center of the patio to address us. "And lady," he adds quickly, his eyes flitting to me. "I'm honored that you all could put your busy Sunday afternoon on hold to humor me for this momentous occasion. Leir Odair was such a cornerstone to the foundation of this company. His grandson, Finnick, has carried on his legacy so gracefully that when his granddaughter recently decided to embrace her heritage, we wanted nothing more than to invite her into the family business."

Nerves creep up my spine, grasp firmly around my neck, and tighten until I'm gasping for air. I'm a criminal, a town pariah. Circinex shouldn't want my name anywhere near theirs.

"That is why I'm proud to announce that as of tomorrow morning, a deal will be closed that will rightfully give Katniss Everdeen her shares of the Circinex Company."

There's brief, polite applause, and I'm ushered by one of Snow's assistants to accept a plaque from Snow in front of a team of cameras. I smile tightly the entire time, coiling away when Snow reaches out to place a hand on my back. Finnick sweeps up beside me and covers my back with his large hand before Snow's can land, smiling apologetically the whole time. When the crowd breaks apart, Finnick grabs hold of my arm to pull me aside.

"You didn't have to do this," I say, reading over the certificate of my shares. I never wanted to be a part of this family, or a part of this company, especially with the knowledge I now hold.

"I didn't," he says.

"This isn't from you?" I ask skeptically. I assumed it was an olive branch by the Odairs. That Prim's shares would follow when she turned eighteen, and we'd get the fortune that we were cut out of.

"No, it's from Snow," Finnick says, his eyes focused over my shoulder at the man himself.

My gaze follows his, then dart back to the certificate. The election is coming up, and his numbers are up in the polls, perhaps this is my reward for playing along. The payment I've received for my obedience to Snow's plan. I almost smirk at this. If this uprising that Gale is a part of is right in their claims, this piece of paper will be as worthless as Snow's career in a few weeks.

"He had to buy a few shares from Abernathy, but most of it came from his. Enough to make you one of the majority share holders," Finnick says. I look at him, confused, and he takes this as a cue to elaborate. "As of tomorrow, you'll own just as much of this company as he does."

The plaque nearly drops from my hands, and I tighten my grip around it until my knuckles turn white. My head snaps around to look across the crowd at Snow, who lifts his glass of whiskey as a toast in my direction. Why would he attach such a large portion of his company to my name without some sort of ulterior motive.

Then it all begins to make sense. With Gale involved in these whispers around Panem, there must be other people close to me that are involved. People that wouldn't want me to take the fall for Circinex's past offenses. It's becoming abundantly clear to me as I look over the series of today's events.

Snow knows about the uprising.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Okay, yes, quick update. I didn't want to fall back into bad habits, so I churned this one out quickly, since my weekend will be unavailable. This chapter is for Jessa, who has been telling me for months "I just want them to do it." Sorry for the really, really, really bad smut. Please submit any and all complaints to Jessa on tumblr (peetaspenis)._

* * *

In the week that follows, Gale continues to be evasive with me. News of my appointment to the Circinex Board has appeared in the paper, so he's aware of the change, I'm certain. His silence is telling, and I worry that he assumes my acquisition within the company fold was voluntary. That I've chosen a side, and the rich is where I've chosen to stay.

I wait for him in the woods, outside our old stomping grounds in the meadow, and even seek him at the colliery I know he's been mining at. But it's clear that he does not want to be found.

I've accepted that he's shut me out completely, when my foot catches a thin strand of fishing wire along a path in the woods I often take. Branches snap and spring to life around me. A domino effect that ends with a small satchel dropping from the higher boughs of a spruce tree.

The letter inside is clear and to the point.

_"Watch your back, Catnip."_

I reach inside the satchel and recover a loaf of bread. It's a sign, a message more clear than the words on the page. We're still a team, Gale and me. Whatever happens, he'll be looking out for me, just as I will for him.

I tear the bread leaving one half behind in the bag, and pocketing the rest. Securing the sack back into the tree, I arrange the twigs around where the snare was set to point in its direction. It's entirely unnecessary, as only Gale and I would ever stumble across such a thing, but I need for him to see that nothing has changed.

With this feeling of relief, I return home, to the Odair Estate. Peeta is in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast table with Prim, and they speak with such ease and familiarity, that I'm left wondering how they even know each other really. I feel that I keep what I have with Peeta to myself. It's strange to see him around my family like he's a part of it. It's domestic and normal, and a revelation I'm not quite sure that I'm comfortable with.

He spots me across the room, and his bright smile widens. "Katniss, there you are," he says, waving me over, and I join them at the table.

"Peeta made muffins," Prim says. She pushes the platter to me and I pick up a pastry even though I'm not particularly hungry.

"Did you still need help with your English assignment?" Peeta asks.

He looks at me suspiciously, fully aware of my obviously sour mood. I hate that my mood is sour at all, especially directed at him, since he hasn't done anything to provoke it. It's the progression that our relationship has taken, I suppose. I was never looking for anything serious - in fact for months we've been fully aware that this arrangement between us was purely that, an arrangement. Yet reflecting on the past few days, weeks, months even, it hasn't felt fake at all.

I do my best to smile genuinely and say, "Yes, if you're still willing."

Graduation is in a few days, and while I'll be walking, I won't get my diploma until I finish a few mandatory course requirements over the summer. The session is fairly short, however, and most of the teachers gave lengthy assignments to complete during the break between finals and graduation. Peeta has already taken the course and offered to help when he saw me fuming in frustration over the reading material.

It's a beautiful day, a perfect mix of spring and summer air, and Peeta takes me out to the edge of town to an abandoned gym that has an easily accessible ladder to the roof. Most of the buildings in this part of town are vacant, which isn't surprising since they'll fall outside the city limits of an incorporated Panem.

At the base of the fire escape ladder, which will take us to the roof, I notice a blue sign in the window.  
"Cassius Corp?" I read. There's the golden outline of a bird that looks somewhat familiar. A mockingbird maybe, next to a phone number in a small, almost illegible font.

"It's a real estate agency, I think," Peeta says. "I've seen a couple of their signs around town, but none of the buildings have any businesses in them. This one got bought up a week ago, but nobody's stopped me from using it."

I glance around at the vacant buildings surrounding us, and without fail, each one has the same Cassius Corp sign in their window. "But why here?" I ask. "Don't they know this land will be worthless in a week anyway? Nobody wants to set up shop in Panem Improper."

"Who knows," Peeta says with a shrug. "Maybe they see potential here. I mean once the corruption walls themselves off, maybe this won't be an awful place to live anymore."

I roll my eyes at his optimism and turn to climb the ladder with Peeta at my heels.

The view from the roof is breathtaking and I can see clear to the meadow all the way to the taller buildings that make up Panem's skyline on the other side of town. I can see why Peeta draws out here. The views are picturesque, the wind warm and inviting, and the silence is the type I've been craving, even in the seclusion of the woods.

Peeta spreads out a blanket near the roof's edge, and pulls out a sketchpad that already has the outline of the city's panoramic view scratched across it.

He's just started to add detail to the Circinex building, the tallest tower in the sky, when he asks, "So which window will be yours?"

It's not facetious, his tone, but he's dropped enough hints in the past few days to make it clear that he's not enthusiastic about my position.

"I'm not sure that I'll get an office," I say. "I think they just call me in from time to time to say 'yay' or 'nay' at trivial things."

"But you'll have to be in Panem for that," he says. He begins to quietly sketch, his best defense in showing that he's not too invested in the conversation, when it's obvious that he is.

"I don't see why I would," I say. "I could probably live anywhere in the world. When I'm needed, a private jet will come pluck me from the most desolate location to drag me back to society."

"Like New York maybe?" he says, his tone casual as if I can't seen his motive.

"That doesn't sound very desolate to me."

"I've heard it called a jungle," he reasons. "And I know how much you adore trees."

In a few short months Peeta will be moving to New York City, and he's made no secret that he'd like for me to join him. It's tempting. The thought of suffering the nights without him is one that I often push to the back of my mind. But I've got a life here. A family. To follow him to New York would be to depend on him completely, a commitment I've sworn I would never make since watching my mother suffer so greatly at the loss of my father.

"You don't want me around," I tell him. "I'm nothing but trouble."

"This town is nothing but trouble," he says. "I'd feel better if we all rid ourselves of it entirely."

He has a point, but I'm not willing to take his bait. "Maybe I'll move out west then. I hear they have plenty of trees."

"That they do," he says with a defeated nod. He returns his attention back to his drawing, effectively ending the conversation, and I reach into my backpack to retrieve my reading assignment.

I flip through the book, unable to focus on any of the words across the pages. The plot is silly to me, yet uncomfortably close to my own situation. Extravagantly rich people tied up in a web of lies and deception that untangles with disastrous effects. The book is bitter ice in my hands and I throw it aside. "I don't like this book," I announce.

"It's a classic," Peeta chuckles at my histrionics.

"It's awful," I say pointedly, since he doesn't seem to be taking me seriously.

"It's supposed to be awful," he says, his voice still light with amusement. "The people and the fallout anyway. It's a cautionary tale."

I fold my arms over my chest. "It all seems unnecessary to me. This great love affair for example, it's obvious to me that the girl's toxic . Why has he wasted so many years of his life obsessing over her? It's no good for either of them."

He freezes, a frown etching his lips. I get the distinct impression he thinks that I was talking about him, even though that's not what I meant to imply.

"Sometimes it doesn't matter," he says. He's pretending to sketch, as if he's unaffected, but his pencil only hovers above the page with each stroke. "There are some connections you can't shake. Regardless of how they feel about you," he frowns. "Or don't, as the case may be."

The sadness in his voice causes my heart to shatter. I want him to know that he matters to me. That I care for him in a way that is unquantifiable. I can't verbalize my emotions as well as he can. Words always fail me. But I can show him.

I pluck his sketchpad from his hands and set it on the blanket beside him. He looks at me quizzically, but quickly recognizes my intentions. "Katniss, you don –"

"I need you," I tell him, trying not to let the desperation in my voice overtake my words.

"I know," he says with a resigned laugh. He picks at an invisible thread on the blanket rather than look at me.

I take his cheek in my hand and force his eyes to meet mine. "You don't," I say. "I need you," I repeat, causing his eyes to dart away again. And then I see it. The imbalance in our relationship that has been so obviously present. I need him, yes, he is absolutely critical to my survival. But to Peeta, his role in my life is a burden. A series of unfortunate events that has tangled our paths irrevocably. I'm stuck with him, but he's wrong. "I _want _you."

He begins to mumble his doubts, convinced that I'm only telling him what he wants to hear, but I don't let him finish, I swallow his protests with my lips. I steady myself on my hands and knees, as we meet again and again, each kiss finding a new intensity. He pulls me into his lap, my legs falling on either side of his. I've been in this position before, and our bodies mold in a familiar way. His hands at my hips hold me firmly against him, and I fear if he let's go, that I'll float away.

Warmth spreads from my chest to the tips of my fingers. The heat becomes overwhelming, a wild fire that can't be contained. My dress is suffocating and restrictive against my skin and I need to be freed from it. I lift my hands over my head, and look to Peeta expectantly. His lips are swollen pink, his ashen skin completely flushed. He grins at my request and slips my dress over my head wordlessly.

The blue in his eyes turn dark, his fingers tracing the path of his gaze. He starts at my neck, the pads of his fingers eliciting goosebumps in their wake. They move to my collarbone. Palm my breast. He's seen me this way before. Touched me even.

It's never been with such intent though, only curiosity. Exploration that got carried away. I still remember the first time that I touched him. It was after a Capitol party, when both of us had partaken in more drinks than we were accustomed to. We'd stumbled back to his room, sleep evading us as it often did, and we sat on the floor staring glassy eyed at the television.

Something had come over me then, a rush that I'm still unable to describe, a rush not dissimilar to now. My hand had slipped from my lap to land in his, my eyes never leaving the television as my fingers took on a mind of their own. The muscles in his thigh went taught beneath my touch, and when his breath hitched and I felt something twitch against my palm, I think he was more startled than I was. I began to stroke him through his jeans with more abandon, reveling in the feel of him swelling in my small fist. And he liked it too, his hips lifting off the floor, thrusting to set a rhythm that I had failed to master.

I made the mistake of looking at him then. His eyes were screwed shut and his jaw clenched. I was overwhelmed by it. The pleasure that I was giving him, and the pleasure I felt myself from having that effect, it was too much.

He noticed my hand still, and his eyes had slowly opened. Heavy and lustful. "What are you going to do with me?" he murmured.

The implication terrified me. What was this leading to? What did it mean? I depended on Peeta, yes. Couldn't manage most nights without him by my side. But this step, this progression, it was committing fully to this relationship that began as a sham.

I turned abruptly, folding my hands into my lap. His strangled groan let off his disappointment, and he sat tensely beside me for a brief moment before excusing himself to the bathroom. I sat there, staring helplessly at the glowing edge of the bathroom door while Peeta brought himself to a release that I'd yet to find.

The thoughts weighed on my mind all through the night. And it left a humming between my legs that made my thighs clench tightly. This hunger was new to me. It had crept up on my on occasion before, but around Peeta I drowned in it, the alcohol amplifying the desire until it was unbearable.

I rolled onto my back, where we lay in his bed, to watch him sleep. My tongue darted out on its own volition to wet my lips. Then my hand up to my breast to ghost the feeling of his touch. The warmth between my legs called to be touched, until I couldn't ignore it for a moment longer. I watched Peeta carefully, worried he may awaken, yet exhilarated by the thought of him watching.

I turned to my side, my fingers carefully dipping beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts to press firmly against my aching center. I let out a soft, relieved sigh that I thought only I could hear, but then the bed was dipping beside me, and the entire length of my body was bathed in his warmth. His lips were hot against the column of my throat, while his hand chased after mine, joining in with my fingers' ministrations. "Let me help you Katniss," he had said huskily in my ear.

My movement stilled, allowing for him to take control. And soon his fingers were tucked into my underwear, circling the bundle of nerves that ached for him. My body bowed from his, unable to contain the waves of pleasure that surged through it. He bit into my shoulder and began to stroke through my arousal with more intensity.

I had never been able to live in the present. My mind is always burdened with far too many thoughts for my own good. But through the haze of alcohol, and the steady swirl of Peeta's fingers, I was finally able to crest my inhibitions and truly let go.

I try to channel that same sensation as Peeta devours the flesh along my collarbone. Focus on the feel of his skin against mine. The rush and hunger that it evokes.

I strip off his shirt and trace the planes of his chest with the palms of my hands, as he did to admire me before, but already it feels false. Like I'm only playing a part to appease him. He must sense this, because he smooths my hands away, running his own hands up my arms until he reaches the tip of my braid, which he tugs on playfully. Once again he's effortlessly taken control, and has elicited more affection in a single gestures than I could ever dream to requite.

"Lay down," he breathes into my ear, and I quickly comply, crawling back on my hands to stretch out on the blanket before him.

He follows me, settling on his side with his weight propped on his elbow and head balanced in his hand. His other hand rests on my hip, the pads of his fingers tracing the elastic of my underwear, then across the fabric to dip between my folds. I let out a hissing sound and he repeats the motion, this time applying more pressure. The cotton barrier becomes a nuisance when he tries to focus his attention on my clitoris, and he arches his wrist to stretch the fabric, but no angle seems to work.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, his grin sheepish as he nods towards my panties.

"Um, yes," I say after a silence that extends for too long. He begins to roll them down my hips, and at the same time I busy myself with his belt buckle. If I'm losing clothing, I'd feel much more comfortable if he lost some too.

With my underwear at my ankles, he shifts to shuck off his jeans so that only a tented pair of boxer briefs remain to cover him.

I, on the other hand, am completely exposed – a fact that I'm painfully aware of. And his gaze falls upon me with such lustful eyes that I snap my legs shut. He kisses me. His tongue massaging over mine until a languid moan passes my lips and my limbs seem to liquify.

We're still kissing when he touches me. Two fingers sweep through my folds, coating them with my arousal before tracing up to the cleft. He focuses on my clit, circling it vigorously to push me closer and closer to the edge before prolonging my torture with another lazy pass.

He does this once. Twice. Finally he settles on the bundle of nerves that craves his attention most with his fingers. My body tenses. My feet flex and toes curl trying to trap the growing pleasure that surges through me. His pace quickens, and the pressure of his finger becomes more firm, swirling and dancing. Coaxing me towards release.

His lips leave mine to trail down my neck, catching the tightened peak of my breast between his teeth through the padding of my bra. My body doesn't know how to react to the new stimulation, and I ball my small fist in his curls to keep myself grounded.

I try not to let myself over think it, only allowing for the basics to cross my mind. That this feels good. That I'm close, so impossibly close.

I shut my eyes and bite my bottom lip between my teeth. Steadying my breath so that I can only feel his hand between my legs and mouth on my breast.

I'm there if I don't think about it. If I let go, I'll find release.

I let go.

I shatter.

It pulses through me in waves, until I'm boneless and struggling for breath.

His fingers are still there, pushing with the same fervor, and I wonder if I wasn't obvious enough in my release. It feels invasive now, him touching me in this way. I squeeze my thighs together to muffle his movement and swat him away until he understands and draws back his hand.

He looks at me with uncertainty, and I reach out, cupping his erection through his boxer briefs so that it's clear that it's his turn. I lower the elastic enough to free him, and try my best to hide the blush that fills my cheeks at the sight of him.

I've never seen him in this light, or anyone for that matter. His cock is swollen and thick – a darker pink than I would have imagined. I'm not sure what would qualify as a decent size, but certainly, this could never be considered a disappointment.

I wrap my fingers around him, and it's an odd sensation. The skin is velvety, even when held taught in this way, but beneath the surface it's solid and sturdy. I pump my hand gently a few times along his length and he laughs.

"Now's the moment you decide to find your sensitive side?" he teases. "No need to be gentle. Trust me. Exhaustive studies have been held to test its durability."

I tighten my grip and his jaw clenches before he nods eagerly in approval. He thrusts into my hand, precum dripping from the head that I touch curiously with my finger before spreading it along his length.

"I... um," he stutters, stilling my movement. "Are we?" I nod. "Are you ready?" he asks and I narrow my eyes at the implication. "No. I mean. If this goes on any longer I'm going to be _too_ ready."

"Oh," I say. "Yes, I think."

He rolls away, wiping his fingers discreetly against the material of his boxer, before he reaches for his jeans. He retrieves a foil packet from his wallet, while I observe wordlessly. We don't really need it, I suppose. I received a shot when I was placed on the Odair's medical plan, which prevents pregnancy, but I'm not sure how to tell him this, or if it's something we're supposed to discuss. It seems logical to use a condom, not to be crass, but I don't know _where_ he has been, yet I find my tongue too heavy to pose such questions.

Peeta steps out of his boxers and rolls the condom over his shaft. As he positions himself between my legs, he glares at my bra, like it's a hindrance to his enjoyment. I reach behind my back to free the clasp, and he happily helps me wiggle free of it. His warm hands come to cover each breast, squeezing and plying them in his palm. He lowers his mouth to lick the valley between them, and then takes an excruciating length of time to nip and suckle each mound.

"Sorry," he murmurs against my skin. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to see these."

He poises himself over me again and spreads my legs as wide as they will go. He tips my hips forward and then I feel it, the head of his cock against my entrance. It feels too big – even with only a bit of pressure – and I worry that I will never stretch in a way that accommodates him.

He attempts to push forward, and as I predicted, is only met with resistance. Reaching between us, he uses his hand to help guide himself, but again is unable to push inside me. His eyebrows knit together curiously, his mouth twisting shut to hide his growing frustration.

"Is there something wrong?" I ask, frantically moving to sit up on my elbows. I'm not built for this, my body is an active fortress in preventing such foolish acts.

"No, no," he says. He lets out a few heavy breaths, his tongue swiping across his lips, while he scratches thoughtfully behind his ear. "Just try to relax, okay?"

I let out an impatient breath, and try to reconnect with the rush I felt earlier. My eyes slide shut and I nod when I feel completely at ease.

He pushes again.

Nothing happens.

He grunts into my neck, then quickly moves away to sit back on his haunches. "Let me just try something, okay?"

He lays beside me again and slips a finger inside me, then two, maybe three. There's a slight discomfort, almost a tickle, as he flexes his fingers within me. I try not to let my displeasure show, but Peeta is attuned with my every movement. "It will make it easier," he says, and kisses my temple.

I don't know what he means by it, but I trust him. Curiosity strikes me, which quickly turns to dread. How does Peeta know this trick without some amount of experience? He's kind, good looking, wealthy. It would be foolish to think that he never found company with a pretty Cap girl. Thoughts invade my mind and I feel overly possessive. Peeta with anyone else is unimaginable.

"Have you?" I say, but can't elaborate. The way he looks at me quells my fears. Even if there have been girls in the past, they aren't here now, and to think of it will ruin this for both of us.

"Okay," he says and smiles in a way that's the perfect balance of bashfulness and sincerity, washing away the last of my doubts. "Third times the charm?"

"Fourth," I correct.

"The first was just a practice run," he says, settling between my thighs.

This time when he pushes into me, there's less resistance. I gasp when I feel my walls clench around him, but quickly hiss from the discomfort. He moves carefully, withdrawing himself then thrusting with gentle, shallow strokes.

"Better?" he asks. I smile tightly and try to give him a reassuring nod. This doesn't please him, if the frown creasing his features is any indication. "It may be better if you're on top," he suggests.

My eyes widen and I shake my head frantically. I'm nervous enough as it is, and being this naked is something I'm not entirely comfortable with.

"No this is fine," I say quickly.

"It will be easier. You can find what feels good," he says, moving to the other side of the blanket and holding his arms out for me.

Reluctantly, I follow, crawling over him so that I'm straddling his waist and hovering over him.

He aligns my hips and guides himself into me. Him on his back and me above him. He fills me, but it's easier now. I feel myself stretching from the inside, and it takes me a moment to adjust to the sensation. I know the basics, that I'm supposed to move, but I'm not quite ready yet. Instead I choose to experiment, tightening my muscles around him, and he quivers in response. I push myself off my knees to lift myself along his length and then lower myself again. He likes this and grips my hips to help set a rhythm.

I'd rather he take the lead, I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel exposed sitting this way, my entire body bare for him to see, so I place my hands on his chest to steady myself as he moves inside me. His breathing becomes strained beneath my weight, and I worry that I'm suffocating him, by leaning on him this way, so I move my hands to the blanket on either side of his head. Suddenly I'm hyper aware of the way my breasts bounce with each thrust. The only thing I can focus on is the way they slap against my chest, and the way that Peeta's glazed over eyes are locked, mesmerized, by them the whole time.

It's all too much. I cover myself by laying fully against his chest. I'll never be able to enjoy myself otherwise. His grip on my hips tightens and he quickens the pace of his thrusts, his hips lifting at times to meet mine. The friction of my clitoris rubbing against his pubic bone awakens the hunger I'd felt earlier, and I revel in the sensation as it draws me towards the edge.

I'm almost there when his thrusts grow erratic, his breath hitching before he let's out a quiet groan. Our movements slow, and then still entirely. His heavy eyelids struggle to open when he says, "Was that... did you?"

He's still inside me, pulsing slightly from the aftermath of his orgasm. It's a curious feeling and I tighten my walls around him to capture the sensation. "You're going to have to let go eventually," he says, his grin tired and sated.

My cheeks are already too warm to show the blush that appears, and I carefully climb off of him, dressing quickly while he looks for a place to dispose of the condom. My entire body hums with a new sense of excitement, yet I feel tired. I lay on my side, my eyes slipping closed to give into sleep. I feel Peeta behind me again, and he wraps an arm around my waist with his face buried into the back of my neck.

"I love you," he murmurs into my ear.

I panic, my eyes opening wide and then closing tightly again. My throat is suddenly too dry to speak and I respond in the only way I know how to this declaration. I pretend to be asleep.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr (if you haven't already) username __**absnow.**_


	6. Chapter 6

The days pass by in a blur. We lock ourselves away. Wrapped around one another beneath layers of blankets as we set out to learn every inch of the other. This was inevitable, this change, with the dance we've been engaged in for months now. I've denied myself this pleasure for far too long, and will seize every opportunity to make up for lost time.

Morning, through nightfall, we rarely leave his bed. Meals are delivered to his room with little inquiry, and we greedily devour our plates before returning to one another with renewed energy. There's no need to be discreet, his family has assumed that we've been sleeping together for weeks now, and when he makes me come with earth shattering screams using only his mouth, I wonder if he's purposely trying to make a show of it.

I can't say the thought upsets me. For so long I've been walking on eggshells to keep peace between both sides of Panem. I've bitten my tongue and played the part that everyone in town wants to see of me. But Peeta's fire has consumed me with its spell. He refuses to bend to the whims of others. He's true to himself, and confident in his beliefs. Peeta would never become a pawn, unless it came to protecting me.

Because he loves me.

The declaration still haunts me in a way I could never have imagined. Love is foreign to me. Love is a burden. Look at all the trouble it's caused him. I feel selfish for taking advantage of his affections – for letting him believe that this is something that it's not. But sometimes, when I catch my gaze lingering on him for longer than necessary or feel my heartbeat quicken at the thought of him, I wonder if he's not the one being fooled.

Either Peeta is oblivious to my conflicting feelings, or he's purposely chosen to ignore them. He never repeats his confession nor prods for me to return it. Still, it hangs between us, nearly tangible. A weight on my shoulders that I do my best to shrug away, because the alternative – losing him because I can't reciprocate? It's a fear that I refuse to even humor.

There are so many other things to worry about these days. Things I can only put off for so long.

Saturday comes too soon, and I find myself staring at the dark blue canopy that hangs over Peeta's bed. The steady stream of water coming from the shower is soothing, and I allow it to hypnotize me into a false sense of security.

The water abruptly stops with a jerk of the faucet, and soon I can feel the warm, damp air heavy in my nostrils, followed by the heat of Peeta's body hovering above me. His ashen skin is flushed red and tiny crystal droplets cling to the end of his curls, before dripping to tangle in my eyelashes.

"Let's skip graduation," he decides, bowing forward to kiss me.

I push weakly against his chest. "I can't," I say.

He groans and rolls away to lay on his back beside me. "It's the same tired thing," he argues. "Falsely sentimental speeches where we reminisce about good times that no one can really recall having. I could think of several far more productive things to do in those two hours." He sits up on his elbow and catches a loose strand of my hair with his finger. "I'll even let you wear the robe, if you must."

"You're the salutatorian. Aren't you supposed to be giving one of those allegedly false speeches?"

"Oh no," he chuckles, and I can feel the rumbles of his chest through the mattress, making me smile. "I'm giving the most honest speech of all. My greatest memory of high school was having sex with Katniss Everdeen, and I'm letting everyone know it."

My jaw drops and I look at him incredulously.

"You sure you still want to go?" he teases.

"I have to," I say with a sigh. "It's very important to my sister. A year ago this seemed impossible. We literally had nothing..." I trail off feeling silly, but as usual Peeta is genuine in his concern.

"It's settled then," he says. "We'll go." He climbs out of bed and quickly begins to dress in the slacks and dress shirt he had laid out earlier. "But first call your kitchen staff and tell them they have the morning off. I'm going to make your family breakfast."

I roll my eyes. "You don't have to do that for me."

"What makes you think it's for you? This special day is for your sister," he says with a wink.

There's an impatient knock at the door, too brazen to be any one from the staff. Peeta's only fastened a few buttons of his dress shirt, and even though I'm dressed in his sleep shirt, I tuck myself protectively beneath the comforter before he answers.

His mother enters and she glares at me for a long moment before turning to address her son.

"You're not even dressed?" she says sharply. "Look at you! We're supposed to be at the Country Club in twenty minutes and you're a mess."

Peeta continues to button his shirt deliberately slow, and turns his back to Mrs. Mellark to face the mirror on his dresser. "And you look absolutely glowing, Mother." He catches my eye in the reflection. "Doesn't she look lovely, Katniss?"

My eyes widen at my sudden inclusion, but Mrs. Mellark prefers to pretend that I don't exist, and doesn't take Peeta's bait.

"The car's waiting downstairs," she says. "Mr. Snow will be there to congratulate you on your achievement, so there will probably be pictures in the paper."

"I'm sorry Mother, but I've already made plans with the Everdeens," he let's it sink in for a moment before he continues. "You'll have to have Cartee stand in for me, I'm sure Mr. Snow won't notice the difference."

"Peeta," she says sternly. "You know how important this election is to our family."

"Yes," he nods and moves to his closet where he retrieves a tie. "It's very important to _you. _But Katniss is important to me and I'd like to spend the day with her. It's my day after all, isn't it?"

"Fine," she says with a reluctant sigh. "Your _friend _can join us for brunch if those are your terms."

Peeta chuckles and shakes his head. "Not everything I do is to spite you, Mother. Sometimes I'd rather surround myself with a family that can actually tolerate one another."

"The Odairs?" she practically spats. "Oh dear boy, if you think the Odairs are the pillar of dignity and family kinship, than you're more foolish than I thought."

I feel unnecessarily offended by the accusation. I'm not an Odair by name, and I don't feel a connection with them, but to me, it's an obvious slight towards my mother. As usual though, I bite my tongue and keep silent, allowing the insult to linger.

Peeta isn't swayed by her argument, and politely asks for some privacy. With a scowl, she turns to leave, but not without a final request. "I trust you'll still be attending the campaign reception tomorrow. I feel I've been awfully generous in allowing you your freedom," her eyes flit to me, still laying in her son's bed. "Please don't make this anymore difficult than it needs to be."

The encounter doesn't sour Peeta's mood. He walks me home, where he spoils Prim and me with a hearty breakfast. It's not as lavish compared to what the kitchen staff usually prepares, but the muffins are warm – the best I've ever tasted, and sitting around the breakfast table this way seems like the most normal thing any of us have done in months.

When Prim insists on helping him with the eggs and bacon, I have no choice but to offer my services as well, and soon, even Finnick has joined us in the preparations.

We stuff ourselves full with our feast, conjuring up memories of family breakfasts from the past. Prim drives the conversation between mouthfuls of food, encouraging me to tell stories from when our father would cook for us. It becomes apparent after I've monopolized the meal with memories from the Everdeen kitchen, that Peeta and Finnick don't have their own family tales to share.

A foreign feeling of sympathy fills me at the thought. Never in the time that I've known them, have I felt more fortunate than them.

After breakfast, I head upstairs to change for the ceremony. Effie has a collection of dresses that Cinna sent over earlier in the week hanging on a special rack outside of my closet. I sort through the pieces, allowing for the silks, chiffons, and satins to tickle my fingers as I inspect them. Once again, Cinna has chosen the perfect assortment of elegant, Capitol appropriate attire that also suit my mood of being both simple and comfortable. The dress that I select is a soft yellow, with small embroidered flowers that dot a tulle overlay and falls just above my knees.

As I make my way down the hallway towards the staircase, I hear heavy footsteps hurrying behind me. I turn to see Finnick, anxiously fiddling with something in his hands and he slows to approach me.

"Katniss, hey," he says, and I pause, allowing him the opportunity to catch up. "I wanted to give this to you. A graduation gift. It's from our grandfather."

He extends his hand to me and I inspect the contents skeptically before reaching out to accept it. It's the most exquisite pen I've ever seen. Solid white gold accented with intricate swirls of yellow and rose from the nib up the outer cap. The body is layer upon layer of shimmering diamonds and rich, blue sapphires, wrapping around the barrel to resemble crashing ocean waves, and making it impossibly heavy. The cap is no less stunning with a beautiful ship carved into ivory and accented with more diamonds. The tip of the cap is branded with a small anchor, and I have to squint to read the "L" and "O" that flank each side.

"It's lovely," I say, nearly breathless. "I can't take it though." I push it back into his hands and close his fingers over it. "He left it for you."

"Actually," Finnick says, drawing out the word with an uneasy chuckle. "I only technically found this. I mean it looks pretty expensive, so I'm sure he signed some important documents with it or something, but it wasn't in his will. I found it under a loose floor board in his office a couple of years after his death."

"Loose floorboard?" I arch my brow curiously.

"Living under a very critical spotlight, sometimes you have to get creative to hide your secrets. It ran in the family apparently. Mother was always snatching up anything that looked to be of value, so Grandfather was probably hiding it to keep something for himself."

He presses the pen into my palm. "Take it, okay?" I don't budge and he let's out a heavy sigh, combing his fingers through his copper hair. "Consider it a peace offering." He takes a step away so I can't return the pen again. "Growing up, you and your mom and your sister, you were just names – cautionary tales. I didn't really connect these characters with actual people, and I apologize for that. You needed us and we turned our backs on you, and I promise, it'll never happen again. And if it does, you have this $200,000 pen to make a few bucks off of," he adds with a wink.

I acquiesce, and turn it in my hands to inspect it again.

"Face it, Katniss, you're stuck with me now, whether you like it or not," he says, and playfully musses my hair with his hand before turning to disappear down the endless corridor.

"Finnick, wait," I call out before my mind has fully formed its thought. "Are you coming to my graduation?"

He turns on his heels, his smile so broad that I can count every one of his pearly teeth. "I guess I could pencil you in."

Finnick arranges for the limo to take us to the ceremony, since the town car won't seat us all comfortably. There's a bottle of champagne and sparkling cider on ice with an assortment of glasses, and when Finnick fills a flute for both me and Peeta with champagne, he leans towards my mother and loudly whispers, "Our little secret."

The ceremony is long and uneventful. Contrary to Peeta's claims, he gives a genuinely heartfelt speech that leaves half of our classmates in tears. Delly sits in the seat directly in front of me, and reaches back her hand to hold mine during his ending notes, crocodile tears smearing mascara down her cheeks.

The school colors are black and gold – the boys in black gowns and the girls stuck in hideous, lemon colored robes. The polyester is cheap and every tiny wrinkle catches the light in a way that makes it look ten times worse. As we're lined up to receive our diplomas, I frantically smooth my hands over the rumpled mess, reminding myself that it's just a piece of paper. A piece of paper I never cared much about.

My name is called and I freeze at the edge of the stairs. My heartbeat is ringing in my ears, and my feet too heavy to lift. The person behind me grows impatient and nudges me forward, causing me to trip up the steps. I regain my composure when I step into the light, and I take a deep breath, one that I hold as a I approach the superintendent and line of faculty members. She hands me the leather bound book and reaches out to shake my hand, which I absently accept.

I can't even take in what's happening, instead I look out at the crowd, my eyes seeking my sister familiar face. I find her, tucked between my mother and Finnick, and even Haymitch is sitting along side of them, all four beaming with pride. A feeling I can't help but mirror as I clutch the book in my hands.

I had never invested much value in my education, but this feels like an accomplishment. Something normal, and typical, and in my life, normal is the greatest comfort.

Peeta is the first to greet me after the ceremony has ended. He lifts me off my feet into a tight hug, and I lock my arms around his neck when our gowns cause me to slip from his grasp. Delly and Madge are soon by our side to exchange congratulations. Rarely am I an enthusiastic person, but Delly's happiness is contagious, and when she insists that Peeta and I attend her graduation party that evening, I agree with little hesitation.

I shouldn't be surprised that evening when we approach her street – densely packed with cars – that Delly's party is the head quarters for tonight's Capitol gathering. Her house isn't as extravagant as Peeta's or my own on Victory Lane, but the homes in the Merchant Valley subdivision are nothing to scoff at either.

"Last chance to bail," Peeta murmurs in my ear, an offer that I strongly consider as we make our way up the cobblestone path.

A smoking crowd has already formed on the front porch, flooding the area around the front door with a cloud of smoke where they hang on the banister with red plastic cups dangling in their free hands. I only vaguely recognize them, but Peeta greets each of them by name and with a handshake. When one offers a "Hey Katniss" in my direction, I awkwardly return the greeting with the tightest smile I can muster.

It's still early enough in the night that Delly is at the door to greet her guests. She smiles apologetically as she pulls me into a hug.

"Sorry, the size of this party sort of went from a low key gathering to a three tapped keger when word got out that my parents were on the red eye to Switzerland for their second honeymoon." She turns and retrieves two plastic cups from a cart positioned next to the door, which she has fully stocked with drinks. "The good news is, the booze is much better now. Before I only had lemonade wine coolers."

"And what is this exactly?" Peeta lifts the cup to his nose and takes a reluctant whiff.

"Liquid awesome!" Delly giggles, and picks up a cup for herself, which she finishes in two long swigs. "It tastes like Skittles," she exclaims.

Peeta takes a sip and immediately begins to cough until his eyes water. "It tastes like vodka," he says between coughs. "A lot of it."

I take a drink, and behind the sharp, sterile taste of the alcohol, I catch the hints of fruit and sugar and something slightly tangy. The sweetness becomes stronger after my next sip, and soon I can see the bottom of my cup as I empty its contents. I drag my tongue across my lips to clean the residue and nod at Delly approvingly. Peeta is watching me intently, his eyes darkening as they follow the path of my tongue.

"You going to be able to keep up?" I tease and poke a finger into his side.

"Not if you keep drinking like that," he says with an amused chuckle, his gaze still lingering on my lips and his hand moving to rest on the small of my back.

"I never took you as a lightweight." Peeta drinks at plenty of parties, usually far more than me.

"I'm not," he assures me, taking a long, even swig. "It was the way you drank it. It was hot."

"Would you two shut up?" Delly shouts, nursing another red cup. "You're so cute it makes me want to puke."

Peeta swipes her drink from her and finishes it himself. "No. I'm pretty sure that this will be the cause." She rolls her eyes and places her hands on her hips. "If we're bothering you though, we'd be more than happy to get a room. Your's is top of the stairs, first to the right, yeah?"

"Ew, stop it Peeta," she shouts and swats at his chest. "Don't you even think about it!"

We weave through the throngs of people, every corner of her kitchen and living room occupied by recent grads and under class men. Peeta guides me towards the back of the house. It's suffocatingly hot in the kitchen, and he plucks a few freshly poured beers from the keg, before nodding his head in the direction of the french doors that lead to the back patio.

It isn't until the cool summer breeze touches my skin that I feel the dizzying effects of the alcohol. It isn't that incoherent, sloppy stage of intoxication, rather the pleasant buzz that leaves my lips tingling and my hands wrapping around Peeta's arm with more intent than usual.

He takes note of this, and draws me closer, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist. We've always been public in our displays of affection, because that was always the point of whatever this is. But now that I've been fully integrated into the Capitol crowd through Snow and the Odairs, I'm not sure that it's necessary anymore. In fact, so much of our relationship takes place behind closed doors, it would be impossible to justify it as a PR stunt.

His lips touch my neck, my head lulling back to accommodate him, and it becomes clear. I don't need him to protect me when I'm in trouble or to elevate my status. As selfishly as it sounds, I just need him.

I spot Madge on the other side of the lawn, looking disinterested as she chats with a few of our former schoolmates. I debate going over to rescue her, but my mind is too clouded by lust to think of much else.

I turn in his arm so that our foreheads are touching, and the hand clutching my beer is curled between our chests. "You want to get some air?" I ask, my voice taking on an unfamiliar lilt.

"We're already outside," he says, his chuckle rumbling deep from his chest. "You ready to go home already?"

"You offering me a ride?" I ask, biting my lip between my teeth when he tightens his grip on my hip to pull me against his arousal.

His lips latch onto mine and I gasp, allowing his tongue to slip into my mouth and paint across my own in a way that makes my knees buckle. I meet each touch eagerly until we're both breathless.

"If we're talking semantics about 'home,' when I was eight years old I basically lived at the Cartwright's house with all the sleep overs we had," he pants against my forehead.

I've abandoned all sense of my usual inhibitions, and the alcohol isn't to blame. I lean into him, slanting my lips across his again. "I'll allow it," I say.

The guest rooms downstairs are already occupied, if Peeta's frustrated jingle of their locked handles are any indication. "There's one more upstairs," he insists, grabbing my hand to eagerly pull me after him.

"Not Delly's room," I say, feeling suddenly awkward about the whole thing.

"Not Delly's room," he agrees, pushing the door open with the heel of his foot. The room is dark, but there are enough personal items scattered around the room to distinguish it as someone's bedroom. Peeta seems to recognize my hesitation as he pushes the door closed behind me. "No, no, it's okay, it's Delly's _brother's_ room. He doesn't even live her anymore, he's out of college even. It's fine."

"Okay," I say, using the light from the moon that trickles through the window to guide us towards the foot of the bed.

Peeta's on me in an instant. His palms claim my breasts and thighs, hiking and stretching my dress in different directions to expose more skin until it's bunched around my middle. He urges me to turn and I feel the back of my legs brush against the edge of the bed.

"Lay down," he says, dipping his fingers into my underwear to slide them down my hips.

I begin to oblige, my eyes hypnotized by the path of his fingers. But something else flares up inside me. The rush of this day. I feel accomplished, I feel at ease, I feel empowered, I don't need Peeta to bring me pleasure as he's so skillfully able to.

"No." I reach down to unloop his belt, pushing both his pants and boxer briefs down to his thighs. "You," I say, cocking my head towards the bed.

His eyes widen in recognition and he nods his head briskly. "Okay," he breathes, settling onto the mattress. He leans back onto his hands, his breathing labored, and shirt riding up his torso where his erection lays flat against is stomach.

I sink down to my knees, resting a hand on each of his thighs. Peeta has pleasured me with his mouth before, but I've yet to return the favor. The concept seems simple enough, and if my inexperienced hand was enough to get him off, I'm sure my lips can accomplish the task too.

Wrapping my fingers around his shaft, I pump my hand up and down his length in a familiar motion, pausing at the base when he let's out a content sigh. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and my chest feels heavy as it rises and falls with each breath.

I press the flat of my tongue against him, starting at the base and licking up the velvety skin to the tip, where I catch a drop of salty fluid. His entire body shudders in response and I feel the same wave of want rush through my core.

Positioned between his legs, I peer up at him. His lids are heavy, but open just wide enough to watch me through his lustful gaze. "Was that good?" I ask, repeating the motion.

His fingers dig into the mattress, balling the comforter into his fists, and he nods tightly to encourage me on.

I sit up on my knees and lower my lips to wrap around his head, swirling my tongue to trace along the ridge, causing his hips to lift from the bed to thrust deeper. He reaches his hand to tangle in my hair, wrapping the long strands around his palm to guide me. He's too big to take in all at once, so I counter the shallow movement of my lips with the long strokes of my hand, bobbing in an asynchronous motion.

"Shit Katniss," Peeta groans, tugging on my hair.

I quicken my pace, taking him deeper. He thrusts erratically from the bed, so close to the edge, when suddenly additional light floods the room and it's obvious that we're no longer alone.

"Woah, woah, sorry." I freeze at the familiar sound of his voice and slowly pull away. "Peeta Mellark? Is that you?" Cato barks with laughter at the sight of us.

"A little privacy," Peeta says, unamused. He tucks himself back into his pants and buttons them.

"In a minute," he says, shifting in the doorway to lean against the frame. "Color me impressed that you're still getting your dick wet even though your crazy bitch of a girlfriend is worth more than you now."

"Don't," Peeta warns, his voice a growl.

"What is it that they say," Cato says, his footsteps growing closer. "You can take the girl from the Seam," he crouches so his face is menacingly close to mine. "But you'll never take away her taste for culm in her mouth."

Peeta's fist connects with Cato's jaw without hesitation and he stumbles back a few paces.

"I said enough, Cato," Peeta says, rising to his feet.

Cato laughs, swiping the back of his sleeve across his mouth. "I'd fucking end you right now, if I didn't already think she'll do that herself. You're a fool if you think she's interested in anything more than your legal team. The trash in this town has it's place," he says, fixing his glare on me. "Better learn it."

He puffs out his chest to assert his dominance and folds his arms. "Now. You two still need the room?"

I climb to my feet and adjust my dress, a scowl sharpening the angles of my face as I silently step past him, never breaking eye contact. That is until I catch sight of the girl waiting for him outside. Leevy.

I bite my tongue, unwilling to start this argument with her again, but we stare one another down. I feel helpless and infuriated at the situation, and can do nothing but follow Peeta down the hallway.

If she isn't the one spreading her legs to Cato for money, it'd just be someone else. It'll always be someone else until Cato and the rest of his Cap scum are stopped.

And I know exactly how.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the delay on this one. There are about two chapters left for this book, I think, it may stretch to three, as this one kind of did. After that is book three, which I already have outlined and ready to dive into. Thank you so much for coming along for the ride. As always I'm on tumblr (__**absnow**__) if you ever want to find me!_


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